


Third Law

by Huarache



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Canon Related, Drama, F/F, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:34:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 90,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9675098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Huarache/pseuds/Huarache
Summary: The disruptive return of the 100 to the ground sparks the re-emergence of an ancient order rooted in balance & favouring a lasting peace at any cost. Their return, along with the appearance of Skaikru ignites further tensions in the Coalition, as the Commander struggles to keep the clans' ambitions in check for the greater good of her people. Canon warping. Shamanistic tendencies.





	1. Return

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First attempt at fanfic of any sort. Got hooked into the Grounder storyline despite my best efforts! Comments are very truly appreciated. Trigedasleng translation will always be at the end of a chapter.

The sun set red over the ridges of the mountains, casting an eerie, unnatural glow across the canopies of Trikru territory. A dot - tiny, black, and whirling - silhouetted briefly against the scarlet disc, before plunging to skim the top of the trees, heading at breakneck speed for a small out-cropping of rock along the western boundary of the valley. With a final beat of its wings, the raven squawked in greeting and came to rest on the outstretched arm of the one who had called it home.

"I saw as you did." A female voice, soft and melodic, broke the quiet of the early evening as the bird hopped further up the arm to settle on the shoulder of the hooded figure. The raven shook her head and preened the ruffled feathers of her chest. "We are not far."

The bird clicked her beak in agreement before returning to her cleaning, keeping one beady eye bent towards its host. The past year had been tumultuous, even in a land that had not known rest since before the bombs had fallen. Dreams, vivid and charged with urgency, had hinted of the things to come but the images and timelines had been muddled. It made no sense. None of it. It was entirely illogical and yet the pull was undeniable. Unbearable. Something had changed. She could feel it as sure as she could the earth beneath her feet. Things were shifting, warping and heaving, and it scattered her carefully organized routine of secrecy and survival like fallen leaves in the chill winds of autumn.

 

**Three Weeks Prior**

It had been several years since any had dared to cross into the lands of the twelve clans. Aside from traders, who sought the necessities when supplies grew scarce, the world beyond the waters of the Great Lake marked only danger and persecution. Her decision to return had not been an easy one. Katja had been safe there, in the permafrost of The Wastes, protected by the harsh climate and short span of human memory. Her people eked out a meagre existence, foregoing the trappings of truly living for the sure sight of another morning. In time the fear that shadowed their every move had receded to nothing more than a dull ache at the base of their skulls. They were no longer pursued, no longer tracked; the nightmares faded, the dead were mourned, and a generation passed forgotten. They became a legend. They became myth.

Her leaving, now in this time of upheaval, had not been a popular decision. Not everyone had an interest in the Old Ways and many viewed the clans with suspicion and hatred. They cared not for rumor and even less for prophecy. Despite what she had told them, despite what she had seen, the elders of the tribe still found exile in The Wastes preferable to chasing the blurred visions of a girl who known no other kind of life. There were still those alive who remembered the hunts and had been present, twenty years ago, to see the last of their leaders slaughtered by the power hungry clans to the south. They no desire to watch the hills run once more with the blood of their kin, all for the vain hope of a peace that they believed would never come.

In the end, however, it had been her decision to make. Her brother Toran felt as she did - saw as she did - though his reaction to his own inner turmoil was not to extend, but to withdraw. He sided with the elders, urging caution, fearing change, but knowing that even he would not oppose her should she choose to take that leap of faith. The south was their birthright. Their fates had been tied to a lasting peace since the stars were young. The dreams spoke of opportunity, of flexibility, and of hope but also of conflict, and war. If they were true, hiding in the North would no longer save them. They could either reach out to help guide that bold new future, or retreat within themselves and fade from history.

And so she left.

A horse, her swords, and a glowering advisor; those had been her companions as she set out from the only home she had ever known. She remembered how her brother's breath wove lazy patterns in the cold of the morning as he stood rigidly, looking every inch an Amin, with a hand raised in farewell. As much as she would miss him, and as much as he was her blood, she guiltily found herself glad that the warrior priest Lewan had been selected to accompany her. Silent and serious, he had always treated her with respect and a loose leash. He had been her teacher through her Trials and the sight of his shaved head and commandingly bushy beard always managed to bring her a measure of calm. She couldn't tell, however, if he was indeed honoured, as he claimed, to be traveling with her or if he thought her rash. Even if she asked, she knew he would only speak of honor and duty, following her right into the jaws of whatever enemy her poor decisions set before them.

Returning had meant travelling through Azgeda, where Nia's malignant presence had seeped into every tree, stream and stone. It gleamed slick like oil, treacherous and consuming. In the pines and rock cuts of the northern lands there was a cool beauty, an intricate sort of savagery, but in them she saw only death. The Ice Queen had built her kingdom on the bones of Katja's people and though she was not the only clan leader to do so, she was by far the most cruel. Stories of her barbarism made up the tales that parents told to terrify toddlers into good behaviour. In children's games their heroes were fearless and invincible, standing alone against the great clan armies and shielding their people from harm. Their battles with wooden swords invariably consisted of Amin versus Azplana, and ended with the malevolent queen impaled in some fashion or another, on the settlement gates.

Reality could not have been more different. Katja's skin crawled the second she set foot over the boundary. Lewan too had felt it. It was as if their bodies were trying to reject some sort of imbedded emotional memory of the land and its ruler. Never had she wanted so badly to turn away from something and run. But the only way to Polis cut through Azgeda no matter which direction you turned and Polis was where information ran in the streets like blood on a battlefield. There she could watch and listen and learn, safely hidden amongst the diverse populace of the capital. Another face in a crowd of many. There, hopefully, she would find answers to some of the images that came unbidden in her sleep. Death, moss, redemption, fire, sky, blood, gold...recurring patterns appearing in different settings with shifting perspectives. They were impossible to sift through without context. Polis could provide that, but before she could get answers, she had to cross areas of clan land belonging to Ice Nation and its no doubt equally as formidable neighbours.

They stuck to the roads less travelled, angling south east as best they could. There would be a time and place for mixing with others, but now, in Azgeda, was neither. She and Lewan both knew that Nia would have Katja's head if she were discovered. With caution, they managed five days travel in solitude, bare of even the hint of another living person. The low scrub and barren rock offered little in the way of distraction, though slowly the appearance of the occasional straggly evergreen or late summer flower broke through the monotony. The changing flora was the only indication that they were actually moving, otherwise the straight, flat path stretched onwards forever, disappearing into the horizon every night only to appear again, endless and unchanging, out in front of them at dawn.

On the sixth day, with the sun high in the sky overhead, the landscape began to show signs of diversity. They rounded the corner of a sheer rock face to see that they were, in fact, at the high point of a small rise. The road sloped gently away from them into an open plain several kilometres wide and sprinkled with half dead vegetation. There were several stands of conifers dotted randomly through the area, and from behind one particularly dense group of trees, a rising column of smoked signalled that they were no longer alone.

Katja slid gracefully from the back of her horse, landing soundlessly with practiced ease. Lewan followed suit, dismounting from his roan and adjusting the sword sheathed at his hip. She ran her hand along her mount's black flank and up to his muzzle before leaning in to press her forehead against the velveteen skin of his nose.

"Charon, _ste kamp raun_ Lewan." The words were softly spoken, but firm. The horse tossed his head in disagreement and shoved his face further against her own. She smiled against him, soothing his neck with a hand, but shook her own head in response. "No, _ste daun weron yu ste kamp_."

"I will have a look, remain here with the horses." She stepped back, handing the reins of her strong-willed mount to the priest.

"Amin." Her companion bowed and pulled both horses together alongside him, urging them back around the edge of the rock cut.

With that, she darted forward towards the trees, weaving through the patchy growths of coarse grass and jutting stone. There was no sound to be heard from the direction of the smoke, only the sight its gentle curl above the stunted boughs and scent of cooking meat. As she reached the edge of the stand she slowed, crouching low for cover behind the yew that rimmed the perimeter.

A house, constructed of wood and thatch, stood at the centre of a clearing, its chimney the source of the sooty cloud. A well-travelled path crossed in front of the large planked double doors that were framed with the enormous tusks of a long-extinct mammal. Above the entrance were three placards nailed to a board. To the left, two crossed swords; in the middle, the white spiral palmed hand representing Azgeda; and to the right, two parallel lines, each an arrow pointing in an opposite direction. Two carts stood empty to the left of the doors, though there was no sign of any horse to hitch them to. Katja pushed closer, stepping carefully through the underbrush until she had a clearer view of the building. It was larger than she had first thought, long and squat with few windows. As she circled nearer to the back, the sun glinted blindingly off neatly stacked piles of different kinds of metals. Raising a hand to help block the glare she saw copper, steel, aluminum and iron separated into holding bays, awaiting their next use. A trader? A blacksmith?

The warning creak of tired hinges gave her very little time to duck behind a nearby bush, its needles providing adequate, if somewhat scratchy, cover. The girl's eyes narrowed as a woman exited the building from a small door along the side, stretching her arms above her head with a loud sigh. The woman was filthy, covered head to toe in a coating of soot and sweat and wrapped in a leather apron several times too large for her petite figure. She watched as the stranger pulled a flask from one of the pockets, opened it and drank deeply, wiping the back of her hand across her mouth and smearing the dirt into a ghoulish line across her lips.

Katja settled lower to the ground, peering out between the thin branches. The woman appeared to be alone, and not overly threatening, but revealing herself at this point seemed unwise. She waited as the stranger dug through what looked to be a lightweight, malleable metal. It took several minutes to locate the disc shaped piece she had been looking for, a small cry of satisfaction escaping her throat as she pulled it from the collection. Her hunt successful, she returned to the door and no sooner had she latched it behind her than Katja backed out of her hiding place and streaked retreated towards Lewan and the horses.

They waited until dusk, watching for signs of more inhabitants, road traffic, or other less obvious risks. None presented themselves. It seemed that they had stumbled across an outpost of some kind, manned by a single woman in the middle of nowhere. The unlikelihood of that escaped neither of them and yet they mounted up and headed for the group of trees at a trot. It was an opportunity for information, regardless of the willingness of the woman to provide it.

Pulling Charon to a stop by the empty carts, Katja signalled for Lewan to dismount and he complied. They reached to hitch their horses, tying off to a small fence that bounded the road. At the familiar sound of an arrow being nocked and a bow drawn, both turned to see the woman from earlier standing just outside the main doors, a short bow trained steadily at Katja's chest.

" _Chil yu_ ," Katja raised her hands slowly from the reigns in what she hoped was a reassuring fashion, " _osir nou lufa sich au…_ "

" _Chit yu gaf_?" The stranger eyed her suspiciously before shifted her aim to Lewan, who mirrored his Amin's appeasing motion.

" _Sheidgeda ste komba raun_. We seek trade, and shelter if you see fit to offer it. We can pay."

"You are not Azgedakru." It was a statement, not a question. The woman's eyes scanned both of their faces quickly, never lowering the tip of the arrow. These strangers lacked markings. No scars adorned their cheeks and brows, and their dress, too, was foreign. The fur that covered them was wolf, but thicker, denser and sewn into overlapping layers. They wore no paint and no masks, and yet she could barely make out the girl's features hidden within the shadows of a pale grey hood.

"Nor, if I'm not mistaken, are you." Lewan spoke up, nodding lightly in her direction.

The woman blinked in surprise but said nothing. The arrow remained steady. " _Osir nou lufa sich au_."

"As your companion has already stated. Who are you?" Her gaze shifted from the warrior to the slighter girl that accompanied him. "And what is your purpose here?"

"We are not of the twelve clans." Katja chose her words carefully. "I am Katja, and he is Lewan. We cross Azgeda only en route to Polis, to find our fortune in the capital. We have been many months in the wilds and seek only news, goods, and warmth. We have no quarrel with you."

The woman frowned, unable to place the girl's accent. Her speech was silky, slow, and oddly seductive. In her profession she came across many different dialects and peoples and yet this one was difficult to pinpoint. It was reminiscent of Ingranrona, the Plains Riders, which would explain the visitors comfort on horseback, but that wasn't quite it. There was a roll to certain syllables and a pacing to the words that was very unique. Nomads? No…she thought not. Despite their claim of clanlessness they also were not Nomads. They carried themselves with the confidence of the high born, not the aggression of the outcast. Where then?

"Please, we can pay. And we will leave at first light. But, if you are unable or unwilling then allow us to beg pardon and leave you now."

It was foolish, she knew this. Inviting random passersby off the road to satisfy her curiosity wasn't something she, or anyone else with half a brain, was in the habit of doing. Still, she felt no animosity from the pair, and they clearly had the means to pay their way. Trade had been lean recently, and the income would be very helpful. The trader hesitated a moment and lowered her weapon, pausing for one last second of self-deliberation before finally motioning the two travellers inside.

* * *

**_ste kamp raun_ Lewan -** stay with Lewan

 _ **ste daun weron yu ste kamp** \- _ stay where you are

 ** _Chil yu_...** _**osir nou lufa sich au** \- _Easy now, we don't want trouble.

 **_Chit yu gaf_ ** **?** \- What do you want?

 _**Sheidgeda ste komba raun** \- _ Night is coming.

 


	2. Proof of Concept

Lewan entered first, pausing a moment to allow his eyes time to adjust to the change in lighting before stepping aside to let Katja enter. The woman came last, setting the bow on a shelf near the door and withdrawing a dagger from her belt as a precaution.

"I am Naomi kom, as you so astutely noted, Sankru...not Azgedakru. Welcome to the Northern-most trade post in all of the twelve clans." She gestured to the multitude of shelves, benches, and tables all covered in wide variety of items. Despite the large volume of goods, each was stacked and clearly labelled. Naomi prided herself on retaining a small semblance of organization within the chaos. "Tell me what you seek and it will be faster for me to find it."

The two travellers followed her hand as it swept past spears, swords, bows, satchels, pots, salves, tinctures, and trunks. Every square inch that could be put to use as a storage spot was full with some item, be it a common ware or an interesting trinket. Lewan watched Katja as she moved slowly between two benches overflowing with hunting supplies, knowing full well that they had no need for trade goods. Their packs were still full, their furs were warm and their weapons sharp. What they had need of was news, and navigating for information would be considerably more delicate.

The fingers of the girl's leather gauntleted hand trailed absently over a set of rabbit snares, the shifting firelight dancing along the wires. "We shall take these. Also two of your warmest blankets. A flint, and a length of whatever rope you have available. If we may have some water, and a seat in front of the fire, we would be most grateful."

"As you wish." Naomi gestured to the fireplace and moved about, collecting the requested items while her visitors gravitated towards the warmth of the large hearth. "This is no Inn, but you are welcome to stay indoors for the night provided you don't mind the rustic accommodations. The doors bar and lock on the inside, so it will be, at the very least, safe."

The pair settled on the stone floor, a small smile pulling at the corners of Katja's lips as she responded. "We appreciate whatever accommodations remove us from the wind, Naomi kom Sangedakru. A spot on the floor is more than I had hoped to be offered. So thank you." It went unspoken that the internal locks would also prevent them from running off with merchandise.

The warmth of the flame was a welcome reprieve from another cold night tented and huddling beneath a stack of furs. Lewan's cheeks were flushed within minutes. Rummaging through the pockets of his parka, he withdrew a large strip of dried beef and tore a piece off with his teeth.

"Some?" He offered the remainder of the food to Katja, who waved him off and sat staring pensively into the flames. The priest studied her profile a moment, at the way the firelight revealed glimpses of her features and just as quickly wreathed them in shadow.

_Weron bilaik soncha, seintaim bilaik trikova_.

Katja caught the last bit of Lewan's stare, and canted her head to the side slightly in question. He was relieved when Naomi returned at that moment, carrying a pair of tin cups, a carafe of water and a small platter of bread and cheese.

"Trails rations and hardtack are hardly a sustainable diet. Eat this." She set it down unceremoniously and poured two glasses of water. Accepting one of the cups, Katja gestured to the bare stone beside her.

"Join us?"

Lewan removed his large cuffed gloves and unfastened the toggles on his overcoat slipping it off his broad shoulders and setting it on the floor. Smoothing it out he extended a hand, palm up and indicated that Naomi should sit. She huffed at him and crossed her arms.

"I need no invitation to sit in my own home."

"We meant no offence."

"And none was taken. I have other business to attend to. Rest well and we will speak in the morning." Naomi shot Lewan one final look before excusing herself as she exited the back of the long room by way of a curtained doorway.

When he was sure that the woman was out of earshot, he leaned in to speak softly. Katja was busily removing her outwear, having begun to swelter in the heat at the hearth.

"Amin…"

"Sha, ai Kepa?". Parka, gloves, pants, all folded neatly and placed as a pillow. The hood, part of a flowing tunic, stayed up.

"Do you think they're all like this?"

"Hrm?" She paused in her struggles with a boot casing.

"Southerners. Ill-mannered and obstinate."

"She offered shelter, brought food, and asked nothing." The girl chuckled quietly, yanking the troublesome cover off her foot and setting it aside. On went a lighter weight pair of boots. She began fastening her scabbards across her back. "You have an odd definition for ill-mannered."

Just as he began to retort, the faint murmur of voices carried over the crackle of the fire, coming from the back of the building to which Naomi had retreated. Lewan gripped the pommel of his sword.

Rising, Katja motioned for him to stand down and listened closely to the sounds of quiet conversation. It sounded like two voices, at least. Naomi was not alone.

More curious than threatened, she moved quietly towards the back of the room, following her ears through the curtained doorway and around a corner. Soft light flooded from an open room ahead on the right and the voices, one distinctly Naomi's, became louder and clearer with every step. Against her better judgement, she moved forward to investigate.

The hairs on the back of Naomi's neck rose. She took her palm away from her father's brow and turned to find the girl behind her, leaning almost casually against the door jamb. Grabbing her dagger from where she had left it on the side table she stood quickly, placing herself between the stranger and her stricken father. Katja made no move.

"What are you doing here? This room is private." Naomi's lip curled in anger, dark eyes glinting dangerously as she took a step forward.

"My apologies, I heard voices and was concerned. Is he not well?"

"Get out."

" _Ai na fis em op_." The girl spoke in that same softly commanding voice, straightening from her position and bowing slightly to Naomi, saying nothing of her invasion of their privacy.

"You will go nowhere near him."

"The fever will not break with cool cloths and fisa tea." Katja pointed to the cup of steaming liquid at the bedside, the distinctive smell of echinacea and chamomile identifying it immediately. "As he becomes weaker it will become harder, but there is still time."

Naomi glanced from the girl to her father, who had opened his eyes at the sound of a strange voice and was now fixated on the stranger at the doorway. With the heavy furs now removed, the girl appeared slight and less physically intimidating. A leather belt circled her slim waist, widening from a six inch band of rich brown at the back and sides to a large, heavily embossed oval shape covering the lower half of her abdomen. Along with several small pouches on the band itself, four small throwing daggers were sheathed in small folds of leather, two along either side of the oval. Beneath the belt, a sash of saffron orange contrasted sharply against the pale grey of her hooded tunic, which fell to mid-calf, and was split to the hip on either side, as well as up the front for ease of movement. A metal triangular shaped clasp just below her left collarbone joined three bands of leather, one to each of its points, that held twin sheathes in a cross at her back. Loose charcoal grey pants tucked into knee high boots of slightly darker colour, which matched the thick gloves that covered the girl's hands, extending all the way to flare slightly at the elbow.

"Please," the girl bowed slightly again, "you have been more than kind to us, allow me to repay you by at least seeing what can be done."

Judging by the man's colouring and the reliance on a regimen of teas and compresses, she guessed that the Azgedakru healers had tried everything they could, but failed to make headway and now left the man to his fate. He was wan, underweight, and his breaths came in short gasps that sounded ragged and painful. When healthy he would have been a large man, stockily built and well-muscled. Katja realized she had found the true owner of the apron she had seen Naomi wearing earlier that day.

The woman hesitated, keeping the dagger raised defensively in front of her. Her father had been sick for weeks. Nothing the clan healers had tried had been able to break the fever. She doubted this girl would do any better and certainly did not trust her with his life.

A hand reached out, curling weak fingers around her other wrist and tugging gently. She looked down in surprise as her father struggled his way into a half-sitting position against the pillows and opened his mouth to speak.

"What risk is there Naomi? Whether I die having done nothing or die having tried everything, the end result is the same. I would rather not simply lay here and wait for it to come."

"Father you will _not_ die. Once this fever breaks, you will regain your strength."

"We both know that is not what is happening. The healers no longer visit because they believe I can no longer be saved." He took a rasping breath and shook his head sadly. "Let me speak to you, stranger."

Katja stepped forward at his bidding, edging around the woman's dagger to kneel at his bedside. She heard Naomi slip in behind her and shifted slightly as she felt the tip of the blade poke gently at the base of her neck. It was a warning, and with the barest dip of her head she acknowledged it.

"And what, young one, can you do for me that the best healers could not?" The man peered intently at her, trying to get a clear look at her face within the shadows of the hood. "My daughter clearly doesn't trust you. Why should I?"

It was an honest question, asked without challenge or malice, and the girl raised her hands to the edge of the hood, stopping abruptly when Naomi pressed a sharp knee into her back.

"Watch yourself stranger."

"I seek only to answer your father's question."

The jabbing pain in her back receded, but Katja knew the dagger was still in place. Carefully, she slid the hood back, keeping her eyes focused downwards on the side of the bed. Jet black hair tumbled in loose curls onto her shoulders, a simple pattern of braids keeping errant strands back from her face. The braids were interwoven and tied with strands of a silver thread that seemed to glow in the soft candlelight. She paused a moment before answering.

"Trust me because I can heal you. Trust in that if nothing else. Your Azgedakru fisas have done what they could, but they have not the skill that I possess." It was a statement made plainly, without arrogance. She looked up slowly, meeting his gaze but otherwise remaining motionless.

The man gasped audibly and clutched at the bedsheets, mouth opening and closing as if he wished to speak but had forgotten how to form words. Naomi, reacting to her father's distress, jammed her knee forcibly into the kneeling girl's spine, forcing a small grunt of pain and a brief wince that broke her eye contact with the man in the bed.

"Leave us…."

Naomi nodded and grabbed the girl by the material of the hood pooled around her shoulders, pulling her to her feet. She needed to speak with her father as well and did not need the prying ears of this stranger present. Roughly, and with greater strength than her small frame suggested, she hauled Katja away from the bedside.

"No!" Her father sounded almost frantic and she flicked her gaze to him in concern. "No Naomi, please leave us. I need to speak to our guest alone."

"Father…?" Naomi's tone was incredulous. "Surely you don't expect me to leave your alone with an armed stranger?

"I must speak with our guest. Release her and give us space. See that her companion...I'm assuming there is a companion?" He sought confirmation in the form of a nod before continuing. "Ensure that he or she is comfortable while we talk."

"Fath-"

"Now. This is not a discussion."

Naomi looked from the girl to her father and back again, her protectiveness warring with following his wishes. Finally, she shoved her captive towards the bedside and stalked angrily out of the room, closing the door with an emphatic slam.

"Forgive her…" The man gestured for Katja to sit on the edge of the small bed. "She is young and inherited her mother's fiery temper. She did not know."

"Would she? Even if I had been less discreet?" She sat and settled her hands into her lap. There was no point in denying anything, the look of recognition on the man's face when he saw her fully was clear. He did not suspect; he knew.

"No. I was raised in the Old Ways, but I have been negligent. She has a wild spirit all her own, that one, but I have not tended to it and am to blame for her ignorance." He struggled to sit up further, a fit of coughing racking his wasted body. Pressing a hand to his chest he gathered himself before continuing. "Tell me, how is it possible?"

"Is what possible?"

"That you even exist. I _helped_ in the hunts. My father before me was an armorer, and I his apprentice. We outfitted Queen Nia's warriors with weapons and provisions. I saw what they did to those that they caught. It was known that no one escaped." He lowered his gaze, his strong hands fidgeting nervously. "I have never forgotten the screams. I did nothing to stop them, no one did. It has haunted me the whole of my life. If you are here for vengeance then I submit to it willingly."

At the mention of Nia's name Katja clenched her jaw imperceptibly. Her eyes, their unnaturally green irises seeming to flicker and shift of their own accord, blazed briefly with vibrant emerald before she lowered her lashes and sighed.

"The past is done. The chain of killing and vengeance and killing is not a cycle, it is a sickness. Times were different then, and circumstance doesn't always fall in step with intentions. I wish you no ill-will. It does no good to dwell on things you can no longer change.I would much rather heal than harm if you will allow it."

"I would be greatly in your debt."

"Perhaps we may talk, as this could take some time. What news do you have of happenings outside of Azgeda?" He nodded and settled back into the bed. Katja pulled at the fingertips of her gloves, working the supple leather from her hands.

"I can tell you what I have heard, Amin. But they are only rumours of falling stars and Sky People. I have no proof that they are true..."

* * *

**_Weron bilaik soncha, seintaim bilaik trikova_**. Where there is light, there is also shadow.

_**Ai na fis em op**. _ I will heal him.


	3. Out of Azgeda

It was two hours before Katja returned to where Lewan and Naomi sat, locked in an uneasy truce in front of the fire. Lewan saw her first and rose with a small bow, a concerned frown furrowing his brow.

"Summer fever." She sounded tired, the richness gone from her voice as she adjusted the glove on her right hand. "He is resting, and with proper care will recover."

Naomi all but ignored her, scrambling to her feet and rushing back to her father's room. She found him resting peacefully, his breathing rapid but no longer rough and catching. Sitting gently on the bed she took his hand in hers and felt his forehead with her other. He was cool. Maybe not completely unfevered, but a far cry better than he had been last night. What had the stranger done to him? She checked for obvious signs of wrongdoing, still suspicious as to the girl's intentions. Just as she began to lift the covers to examine the rest of him, a chuckle rumbled deep within his chest.

"Always my protector, Naomi. She has saved my life, my daughter, not tortured and abused me."

"Father! You sound….yourself." She met his gaze and was amazed to see clear blue eyes, unfettered by the haze of illness, staring back. "And you look much better. How?"

"The story is too long to tell right now but I swear I will tell you as I recover. Just know that the fisas are not the only ones schooled in the healing arts. There are those from long ago whose natural abilities put the clan healers to shame."

"I don't understand."

"No, but you will. Great honour has been shown to our house. To me. Deny them nothing. Whatever supplies they require give freely, whatever questions they have answer truthfully. And most importantly, once they are gone, they were never here."

"But Father…"

"They were never here. It will make sense when I explain but please for now just do as I ask." His hand gripped Naomi's tighter for emphasis and was rewarded with a nod.

Lewan meanwhile, had stepped immediately towards Katja, a hand out to offer support. She brushed it aside and settled herself at the hearth. He sighed heavily at her stubbornness and tried to position himself in front of her.

"Amin, please look at me. I need to know that you are safe. Do not deny me my duty."

"You have a flair for the dramatic my friend. The illness was a simple fever and not overly taxing. I need rest and that is all."

She met his concerned gaze and blinked slowly. Where once her eyes had been brilliant green, they were now washed white, covered in a thin milky film as though she had been injured and blinded. Lewan visibly relaxed, reaching to his side for a mug of the tea that he and Naomi had been sharing.

"You need to take care Amin. Conservation. Discretion. Romping through the countryside curing common illness is not the path. Now drink."

"He will not speak." She took the tea and eyed him calmly.

"Perhaps not, but the next may. Or the next. Attention is not desirable, and you will place a target on yourself if you continue. Thankfully this was not overly strenuous, the Veil is thin and will pass quickly, but you are still vulnerable."

"Lewan...I am not a child. I know perfectly well how this works."

"Then you know, Amin, that I am your kepa. With all due respect, I was selected to accompany you for your own well-being. If you are unhappy with my service I would rather you dismiss me to return home than to doom me to failure at your side."

Katja's eyes widened in surprise. She had not thought that her appreciation of Lewan's knowledge and company was ever in question. She lowered her head, feeling ashamed that her willfulness had caused him to question her need of him.

"Moba, Lewan. You have done naught but right by me since I was ankle-high. It was not my intent to belittle your role in this."

"You are your own person, Amin. Strong, fierce, independent. This I understand. But you must know that the checks and boundaries are often difficult to recognize from within. Trust me to help you with them, even if you feel you do not require it."

"Sha, Kepa." It was her turn to bow respectfully, to make amends for the insult to his pride.

"Now please, there are still hours before dawn. Rest and you should be well by morning."

Arranging her pile of furs, she curled up by the fire and shot her companion a small smile, which he gladly returned.

Dawn rose, pale and shining. Naomi stirred from where she had fallen asleep at her father's side, the sound of rustling in the main room alerting her that the strangers were awake as well. Stretching, she tucked the blankets further up under her father's chin and returned to the shop. She saw that the two travellers we indeed up and busy repacking their gear. The man had begun to pull on the thick fur pants he had worn the previous day.

"If I may," she interrupted almost shyly, holding a hand up for him to stop. "Your furs are not of local craftsmanship. It was one of the first things I noticed last night. If you continue to wear them they may bring unwanted attention. If you wish to...blend in...I would suggest you take Azgeda-made instead."

Lewan followed her now-pointing hand to a corner of the room that housed all variety of furs, from blankets to full sets of outwear. The woman had a point. The less outwardly different they appeared perhaps the less harassment they would meet. He refolded the pants and tucked them into the bundle at his feet, tying them neatly with a length of thin rope and getting to his feet.

"An exchange then."

Katja too saw the merit in Naomi's advice and rose, with her own bundle, extending it towards the woman. To her surprise the trader shook her head.

"We owe you far more than furs stranger. I have spoken to my father. There is much he still needs to explain but at his request you have full choice of whatever you may need."

The girl took another step forward, to which Naomi took a tentative step backwards. Katja smiled sadly and set the bundle on the floor, with Lewan approaching to follow suit.

"There is no fee for the privilege of healing one so loved as your father. We will leave our furs as exchange for a lighter set. All that I ask is that you listen openly to what he has to say, however strange it may sound and I hope that one day you accept that we never meant you harm."

She turned and walked to the fur corner, sifting through the sets until she found one she thought would fit her, and one for Lewan. No sooner had they finished fastening the toggles on the jackets when the front doors rattled, once then twice. A violent pounding followed, and the bar across the inside shook in its place.

"Naomi! The sun is well up and you are still closed? The Queen's Riders need provisions!"

Naomi squeezed her eyes shut and swore under her breath. Miklas. That braying donkey's ass of a voice was recognizable anywhere. She flicked a look over to her guests, putting a finger to her lips as she slowly walked to the doors. Another round of harsh banging echoed through the building, more impatient than the last.

"Naomi!"

"Coming Captain!" She unbarred and unbolted the doors, allowing the four large men to push past her. "My apologies for the locks, I was dealing with a pair of nomads from the west. Shifty sort. Didn't trust them not to bolt with a fortune."

"Nomads, eh? This far North?" The largest of the bunch, a towering man whose face was neatly bisected by a long scar, glanced at the two in the corner and made his way to them. He grabbed Lewan by the front of his jacket and shoved him back against the hanging furs, causing the priest to stumble and fall ignobly onto his rear. The priest shot his companion a warning look and got to his feet.

Katja squeezed her eyes shut as she felt the man turn to her, willing herself to remain calm. She kept her head down and her posture meek, hoping that the Azgeda warrior would lose interest.

"Chon dison bilaik, hmm?" He ripped the hood back from her face and forced her chin up. "Look at me girl."

"It's no use Captain, they speak no Azgedasleng or Trigedasleng. I have spent the past hour trying to follow gestures and grunts. Idiots. They have paid for their supplies and were just leaving. Perhaps you could help me move them along?"

Katja met Miklas' glare, adopting what she hoped was an open, somewhat dim-witted stare. He took in her eyes, still startlingly green but as dulled and unfocused as her concentration would allow.

"Pretty one for a nomad." He cupped her chin and wrenched her head roughly to the side. "If you have no use for her perhaps I might."

"Don't tell me you would sully yourself with the likes of that, Captain." Naomi clicked her tongue in distaste. "Her kind are known to carry all sorts of disease."

"Always the practical one, Naomi. You should relax, enjoy some fun every now and again. You live too safely." To her surprise, Miklas laughed, releasing Katja's face and turning back to the trader. His appetites were well known and not the type that you sought out if you knew what was good for you. Normally he was not so easily dissuaded. "It's no matter. I haven't got time for the dirty wretch anyway. No doubt you've heard of the star fallen in Trikru lands?"

Naomi nodded.

"Apparently it wasn't a star but a vessel of some sort. With passengers ." He paused for effect. "Heda rides from Polis herself to investigate. Naturally the Queen would like her own...representation."

"As she rightfully should." Naomi responded carefully, knowing better than to let her true opinion of Queen Nia seep through. "And this representation is clearly you? As befits the strongest squad in all the Queen's armies, naturally."

"Naturally!" He clapped her hard on the back and turned them both towards a shelf of dried foods. "Now we required food and water for a week. There are posts in Trikru land to resupply but I want double what is needed in case their prices are less than suitable."

Lewan and Katja had been edging slowly towards the door as they spoke, and once within a few feet, they sprinted through the opening and mounted their poor forgotten horses, still saddled and hitched outside. Charon gave a snort of annoyance but responded to her heels at his sides, taking off at a gallop down the road away from the trading post.

"Leave them, they are not worth the bother."

Miklas' men had moved to give chase but Naomi scoffed dismissively and began to gather the supplies needed by the Azgeda warriors. The best she could do would be to stall long enough to allow the strangers time to create a gap between themselves and the Captain.

She wished them speed and good travels.

The pair rode their horses hard for as long as they dared before slowing to an easy walk. Both mounts glistened with sweat and the small bit of foam around Lewan's horse's mouth signalled that it had reached its limit. The priest reached down tenderly and patted the strong neck.

"I'm sorry we left you untended last night old friend. Things did not really go as planned."

The horse snorted and shook its head, increasing speed slightly in order to pull even with Charon. The huge black Friesian nipped playfully at the roan's ear but allowed her to remain at his shoulder.

"You heard what the man said? People, Lewan, from a star?"

"Curious indeed, Amin. What is your plan?"

"We rode for Polis for information, but it appears that the most current events have, at least temporarily, moved to Trikru territory. This Heda that rides there, I have dreamt of her. Not her exactly but some essence her. She is different...special even. I am drawn to her."

"Then we know where we must go. Listen to yourself and let the gift guide you."

They rode south-southeast for another three days before the stunted trees and cold stone of Azgeda slowly gave way to the rich forests and warm soils of Trigeda. Katja, fascinated by the greenery she had only seen in books, insisted on dismounting and walking. She touched everything she could get her hands on: the moss covered tree trunks, the fringed edges of huge ferns, the dark wealth of the dirt that ran through her fingers like nothing she'd felt before.

Lewan was on constant guard, the unfamiliar terrain making him uneasy. He started when squirrels skittered up trees and looked at every nook and hollow as though it held their demise. At least Azgeda, though dangerous, had resembled home. In this place the shadows seemed themselves to have shadows, the animals were strange, and the lack of visibility was unsettling.

On the fourth day, Katja went around to check the snares they set every evening, delighted to find a rabbit caught in one closest a small stream. It was their first success. She knelt, murmuring a few words of thanks, and slit the throat of the struggling creature. They had not had fresh meat since they left Naomi's. Tonight meal would be a rare treat.

The sound of a low growl broke into her thoughts and she looked up slowly to see a large, muscled beast slinking silently from the underbrush. Its eyes, yellow-green and intense, alternated between her and the rabbit in her hand. The thick rope-like tail twitched constantly as it padded out into the clearing, muzzle curling back to reveal deadly fangs.

She remained crouched and held the dead rabbit out in front of her, eliciting a snarling hiss from the animal. Calmly, she sought to make eye contact with it and was rewarded with a brief flicker of uncertainty.

The eyes are the gateway to the soul.

Katja could hear the priest's teachings from long ago as though he were speaking to her now. She focussed all of her energy on the slitted pupils of the beast, flooding it with feelings of soothing and peace. Not all animals were as easy to match with as were humans. Those too affected by radiation or rage were blind to the effects, closing their minds from all but their own fury. Those were beyond her, but those still connected in some way to their surroundings, free thinkers in a way, were open to her. Miscalculating their intent could prove deadly, but she felt the animal's confusion and fear, and sought to relieve it.

With another hiss, it begin circling around to her left, tail whipping angrily from side to side. She shifted to keep eye contact, again offering the rabbit. It was a mistake. The great cat dropped its gaze to look at the food, and in so doing broke the tenuous bond she had managed to build. Shaking its head it roared loudly and launched itself at her, knocking her onto her back.

She barely got an arm up in front of her face before she felt sharp teeth sink deep into her flesh. With a cry, she gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to curl her knees up under the beast for leverage. Instead, it kicked with its hind legs, raking her thighs with its claws. Savagely it shook its head, shredding her lower arm and pushing closer and closer to her face. Her other arm was pinned uselessly under the strength of its other massive front paw. Numbly, she wondered if this was to be her fate. Dead by wild beast before even attempting to fulfill her destiny. The gods were cruel.

The cat's spittle sprayed her face as it continue to growl and push, the flare of its nostrils breathed damp air towards her, ruffling the hairs at her forehead. An idea took shape, borne out of pure desperation. She allowed the animal to push her bloodied arm against her face, drawing it in closer. When mere inches separated them, she shot her face forward, baring her teeth and biting down as hard as she could on its nose. With a wounded yowl, the beast reared back from her, tearing a chunk of its left nostril off in the process. Katja spit it out, the taste of copper and salt fresh in her mouth and with a snarl of her own leapt at the bewildered panther as she removed the glove from her uninjured arm.

Her fingers found purchase in the soft fur at its temple and she clung for dear life as a paw came up and gouged her shoulder. She forced it to look at her, ignoring all attempts to throw her off. If she could not reach it, she knew she was dead. Slowly, the fight drained from its demeanor and it watched her cautiously at first, and then with admiration. Almost apologetically, it licked at the bleeding wound on her shoulder and then promptly passed out.

All of this had happened in a matter of moments, and by the time Lewan reached the clearing he was greeted with a sight he barely believed. There was his charge, astride the largest cat he had ever seen, dripping inky blood from a number of substantial wounds. When she turned to acknowledge him, he paused in surprise. Her mouth was ringed in scarlet red, a stream of viscous blood dribbling down to her chin and dripping onto the fur of the unconscious animal.

"Lewan! There you are," she managed weakly. "Look, I've made a friend."

* * *

 

**Moba.**  - Sorry.

**Chon dison bilaik?**  - Who's this?

 


	4. Connection

_The dream began as it always did: black blood on a straight blade. It pooled along the lower edge and dripped in hypnotic slow motion, the inky sphere of each droplet fading into the surrounding darkness as soon as it lost contact with the metal. There was no sound, no smell, no indication that anything existed beyond the endless rivulets flowing across and down. The blade and the blood. They were the only constant in a shifting dreamscape that hid as much as it revealed to her._

_She felt the urge to reach out and touch it; to run her fingers along the razor edge, knowing full well that her own blood would color the weapon as a result. Was it hers that did so now? It was hard to say. There was an intensity to the silence that was hard to read. She felt no pain or discomfort, just the magnetic pull of the sword and a dim awareness of tension tightening across her shoulders blades._

_Katja blinked and suddenly there was light, texture, and sound. The wind rustled the leaves overhead as she moved between the trees, their trunks casting shadows that shifted and swirled against the rock and greenery underfoot. She walked with purpose, following an unseen trail deeper into forest, which seemed to reach for her with every root, branch and bush. The underbrush slowed her and the bark rubbed roughly against her palms but this was the direction she needed to go, of that much she was certain._

_After several minutes of relatively clear passage, a tangled mass of creeper vine twisted its way between the branches of two small maples, forcing her to wrestle her way through their dense, matted tendrils. With a stumble, she broke into a tiny clearing of well-kept grass and in its center, sitting calmly even with her unannounced arrival, was a large buck. Great antlers spread like boughs from between its large, tufted ears and even at rest, the sinewy muscle of its powerful body showed plainly beneath a coat of pale dappled brown._

_Katja took a hesitant step forward, not wanting to spook the deer with any sudden movement. When she was within arm's reach she knelt, extending a hand towards the animal, who ignored her. Her fingers curled into the wiry fur at its neck as her other hand came up to stroke the deer's cheek. It did not pull away, nor did it seem to welcome the intrusion, it simply sat, staring off into the far distance to its right. Eventually the black nose twitched and its majestic head swung slowly towards her. The forest background fell away to nothingness, the antlers splayed widely into a semi-circle behind a face that had no features save for a pair of grey-green eyes masked in black paint. Katja's heart hammered in her chest and she struggled to even her breathing amidst the disorientation. She felt a shift in the darkness; it pressed in against her, suffocating, dizzying. She watched as the pale brown hair became dark and rich, rolling through her fingers like waves as the scent of sandalwood invaded her nostrils._

_The deer was no longer a deer. Her hands no longer felt fur, but instead the soft, warm skin of a human being whose frantic pulse matched her own. She could feel the heartbeat along the slender neck beneath her fingertips, rapid and slightly erratic. The figure was poorly defined, with diffuse edges and no distinguishing characteristics...except for those eyes. The ashy green was astounding, complex and changeable even as she watched. They had a coldness to them, detachment, and she sensed a flicker of hostility and unease. She tried to open her mouth to speak, but could not; tried to remove fingers from the other's skin, but could not. She and the stranger were locked together for a span of time that could have been minutes, or hours._

_Slowly the black mask began to expand, swallowing everything into a dark void until nothing was visible but that lichen-hued gaze. Katja's hands now held nothing, and she fought to regain contact, unwilling to let go just yet. There was something here, something deeper than she was able to discern and she felt sense of loss and panic that alarmed her. As the stranger's eyes too began to fade, Katja felt a similar resistance from the other side, a curiosity that overwhelmed the stranger's earlier suspicion. She clung to the connection for as long as she was able, grasping desperately for anything in the growing emptiness. There was nothing, however, that either of them could do against the tide of shadows and soon she found herself in complete darkness._

* * *

 

Lewan had charged forward as Katja slumped over the cat, catching her under the arms and pulling her up into his. She was pale, filthy, and spattered in blood. It was hard to tell where an injury began and ended. Her "friend" remained unmoving, a giant pink tongue lolling out of its mouth; Lewan left it.

He moved quickly to return to their tiny camp, kicking a large fur from the stack of bedding as close to the fire as was safe. Gently, he set his bundle down and leaned to grab supplies from his pack.

Getting her out of the tattered furs proved difficult, the dead weight of her body and the slashed hides frustrating his attempts at speed, so instead he cut them off with the blade of his knife. A new set of furs, ruined in an instant. He could only hope that their insulating thickness offered protection from more than just the cold.

Lewan sucked in a breath in surprise as the remains of her heavy jacket and tunic fell away from her upper body. Her side bore no injury but instead a slowly spreading line of silver that, as he watched, outlined the form of a great panther in mid-leap. The tattoo curved its way with feline grace from the top of her hip around to her front, ending in an outstretched paw just below the edge of her undergarments.

Lewan soaked a cloth with some water from his flask and dabbed gently, cleaning each wound carefully and making the extent of the damage more visible. The light of day had begun to fade, colouring everything in tints of orange and pink. The flame-like rays met the contrasting paleness of Katja's body and the blackness of her blood like an artist's paintbrush, swathing first her face and then her torso using the palette of the approaching dusk.

The outlines of the Amin's other tattoos became visible as he wiped the grime from her skin. They were faint and silver-white, the _natshana_ ink's vibrancy ebbing and flowing with the cycles of the moon. When the light was at its strongest the markings were nothing short of astonishing. He had seen them shimmer and move as though alive under a full moon, the pattern of smudges and dots along the bridge of her nose and across her cheeks only then visible and alight with an otherworldly glow. Now though, as the moon waned, they remained only as pale outlines: the twin ravens in flight following the curve of her collarbones to meet, beaks nearly touching, at the soft dip at the base of her throat. Another showed intricate geometric lines illustrating the golden spiral covered the top of her right shoulder and spinning sharply down her upper arm, joining with a full sleeve depicting her mastery of the Trials. There were a dozen others and Lewan knew them all in his role as _Keryonkepa._ They told her story, and by proxy his own. This panther was new.

He quickly checked the rest of her exposed skin for signs of other new markings, but found none. She was still young. The tattoos covered her hands, feet, arms and shoulders but the canvas would continue to be painted until she was old, wizened, and no room on her skin remained. They would appear of their own volition without the aid of human actor, often marking an event or a moment of significance. Not even the priests knew how they came to be.

With difficulty, he tore his eyes from the spreading outline of the cat and inspected her injuries more thoroughly. Thankfully, it appeared that the layer of skins had blunted the attack somewhat, at least on Katja's thighs, which showed deep red scratches but were not shredded to ribbons as they may otherwise have been. The wound on her shoulder was likewise raw but not critical. He left those for the moment to tend to the mess of her left forearm. The cat's teeth had punctured nearly through and in the struggle, had ripped great gashes from wrist to elbow.

He felt along the length of bone and was relieved to find that it seemed intact. Ligament, tendon and joint also all responded as normal to his inquisitive touch. Miraculously it seemed that the only lasting damage was likely to be a network of parallel scars where the beast's teeth had bitten and torn. From his supplies he retrieved a small jar and applied a thick paste of reddish ointment along the length of her forearm, patting it into place and wrapping it with a length of clean gauze.

Katja was restless, her breathing fast and shallow. The girl was lucky, he thought to himself, shaking his head ruefully as he moved on to bandaging her shoulder and legs. A cat that size could easily have killed her. _Should_ easily have killed her. Her own strength of will was what had kept her alive and left an animal twice her size incapacitated in the woods.

Lucky yes, but also powerful, more so than maybe he'd realized. In The Wastes she and her brother had been revered and protected by their people, but largely untested as to the extent of their abilities. True threats were rare, and so they had been relegated to a somewhat ceremonial role. Lewan had the impression that they had barely scraped the surface of what the siblings were capable of and felt a disconcerting mix of anticipation and fear. Her ability to control her birthright would be essential in order to attain the peace they had set out to find.

A snapping twig sounded directly in front of him as he finished tucking the bedding back up under Katja's chin. He grabbed the the long blade he had used earlier and peered in the now dark forest outside the ring of light provided by the fire. A shadow took form beside a large tree and slowly moved forward into sight. It was the panther. Lewan shifted to place himself between it and Katja and the cat responded with a cautious pause, its tail twitching nervously.

He made out the shape of something held in its mouth and realized it was the rabbit from the snare. The animal took another tentative step forward, and then a second, keeping its eyes locked on Lewan for any sign of hostility. The priest waited, not lowering his weapon but making no move against the massive feline. In a motion that looked like a half-stretch, half-bow, the panther dipped its furry head and deposited the slightly mangled rabbit on the ground.

When Lewan did not immediately react it nudged the carcass with its bloodied nose, rolling it towards the two humans as though presenting it as a gift. Lewan lowered his knife slightly and frowned in confusion, to which the cat responded with another shove of the dead animal. It then turned, with one final look back at the pair and a low rumble of a growl and padded back into the shadows.

For a while Lewan just stared at the place where its form had vanished. He glanced down at the rabbit, at Katja, and back to the trees, where he was certain the panther lingered. Rising he crossed beside the fire to collect the offered dinner and returned to settle in close to the warmth, his eyes never leaving the forest. There would be fresh meat, but no sleep for him tonight. Tomorrow morning would bring much to discuss.

* * *

**_Natshana_** = moon

**_Keryonkepa_** = Spirit Keeper, Lewan's title


	5. Catnip

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Recent joiner of AO3 from FF.net, and must say it looks great so far! I've been having a lot of fun with this one, and hope you guys are enjoying it. As always, shoot me a Kudo or Comment if you have a second, it makes my day! Also, to clarify, the story will loosely follow The 100 plotline for structure but the exact content may shift for my own nefarious purposes. Familiar faces are incoming I promise. Thanks for sticking through four chapters of background.

 "You can neither walk nor ride, Amin."

"Lewan I will not listen to argument on this. We must reach the Fallen before the Commander arrives. If I must crawl then I will do so."

Katja had awoken from a second, similar dream the following afternoon, with a start. Her body ached over every inch of its surface, tender and bruised in some spots and fiery and raw in others. The priest had been fussing tirelessly over her as though she were an infant ever since her eyes opened and while she knew he meant well, his constant shushing was grating on her nerves. Although her injuries left her in a less than ideal state, the encounter had had an unexpected silver lining that required she act upon it immediately.

She replayed everything she had seen for the few moments that the panther had dropped its guard and let her see through him. There was something...a match between this most recent dream and the images she had drawn from the beast. She could feel it, but she could not pull it from her memory.

It was hard to decode the information, filtered as it was through the understanding of a cat. The flash of images through her head were wild, and somewhat disordered, but centered around a large object slamming into the forest about a day's ride to the south-east of their current position. The cat's den had been located just over a small hill from the site of impact and its landing had roused the animal from a nap. Fearing little, the panther had stood on the crest of the hill and watched as a large number of humans poured from the object, scattering over his territory with whoops and yells of excitement. Through him Katja could almost smell them, their fear and aggression mixing like a dangerous cocktail on the breeze.

Amidst the blur of bodies three stood out from the rest by their bearing and strength of presence: a boy, tall with an mop of dark curly hair and features twisted by anger; a girl, first off the object, reckless in her enthusiasm; and - yes there it was! The link.

The third human was the opposite of the other two. Fair, golden, and cautious she did not seem to share much in common with the rest. She was curious, but concerned, still in a sea of motion, and spent more time assessing their environment than celebrating their landing. As the blonde's gaze passed over the spot where the panther crouched watching, Katja locked eyes with a face seen again just hours ago in her vision. Blue, not icy but bright and endless, like the open sky on a clear day, the stranger's eyes had a depth and warmth to them that fostered a sense of calm. In her dream the girl had beckoned her closer, only each time Katja stepped forward, the other was pulled back into the shadows by the grasping hands of, she could now assume, the others that had landed with her.

She needed to see the object and its blue-eyed leader as soon as possible. The blonde was important, of that Katja had no doubt, but how she and her ragtag group of teenagers fit into the puzzle of the Coalition and a return to peace wasn't clear. The Commander was riding from Polis as they spoke, and at best was a week out by horseback. Katja had the impression that matters would only complicate when the two forces met, and she wanted time to assess the newcomers free of distraction. Convincing Lewan to break camp was proving more difficult than anticipated however, and they had spent the last half hour in heated discussion.

The argument was more tiring than riding would have been and despite her own determination, she felt her eyelids slide closed during a lull in the debate. When next she awoke, the sun had begun to sink beneath the tree line, filtering its brilliant color through the leaves of the trees like a kaleidoscope. She swore quietly under her breath and rolled onto her side to face the freshly-stoked fire. Lewan paused in the midst of his dinner preparations to smile almost apologetically.

"It appears that you got your wish after all, _kepa_." With a grimace she lifted herself onto the elbow of her good arm and sighed in resignation.

"It appears that your body knows better than that mind of yours what is best, Amin." He dipped his head respectfully, but a playful grin quirked the corners of his mouth. "If it were up to me, we would not travel for days yet, but I will take the extra night as I get it."

"If it were up to you, I would be in The Wastes, opening festivals and blessing babies."

"If that is how The Path is best followed then so be it. Babies do not have fangs."

She snorted and forced herself into a sitting position. Her arm throbbed, as did her shoulder, but it was her thighs that screamed at the new arrangement. She hissed in pain but did not shift, waiting for the initial sting to pass. Lewan set a spitted rabbit across the fire and stood, wiping his hands with a scrap of cloth and approaching to check her bandages. There didn't appear to be any active bleeding, though the bruising both around the wounds and elsewhere was hard to look at. She would recover, but the next couple of weeks would not be pleasant.

"You should know that your friend has been keeping an eye on us, Amin."

"My fri-...ah!" She winced as he gently prodded her forearm, applying more salve before replacing the bandage with a clean strip of black cloth.

"The cat. After your battle it approached our camp, and left the rabbit that had been in the snare. I kept watch all night and saw nothing, though I could feel it had not gone far. Come morning," he tucked the ends of the bandage in and rose, returning to the fire to turn the rabbit, "it returned with another meal. I have not seen it since but it is out there. It appears that the beast has taken a liking to you."

She scanned the forest for signs of the panther, but saw nothing. Instead she shifted her gaze to the rabbit, whose delicious aromas had begun to waft with the smoke from the fire. Her empty stomach rumbled audibly.

" _Kepa,_ if you could, can you help me closer to the fire? I shall count the minutes until our gift is ready for eating."

He gave the meat one last turn and returned to her side, bringing with him a fresh tunic, overcoat and pants. He helped her into the clothing, mindful of her wounds, and grasped her extend arm, hauling her easily to her feet. He slide his arm around under hers for support and heard her exhale sharply, remaining still while the pain passed.

"I apologize for your furs, Amin. I had to cut them in order to quickly assess your condition."

"No matter Lewan, the weather here is warmer than home, even as their winter approaches. My normal clothing will serve just as well. I am thankful as always for your care, I would not be standing now if you hadn't been with me."

The large man looked embarrassed and brushed aside the compliment, instead moving them very slowly across the few feet between them and the firepit. Before settling her into a sitting position he hesitated and turned her so that they were facing each other.

"There's something else, Amin, if you would permit me to show you…" He kept one arm supporting her, and moved the other to lift the bottom of her coat and shirt, revealing the now linked lines forming the panther tattoo. "It began almost immediately after the encounter, and seems complete. I have never been present as one appeared. It was incredible."

Katja pulled the clothing up further with her good arm for a better look. In all honesty she was not shocked. The momentary connection between herself and the beast had been surprisingly strong. She traced the outline of the cat's back along her ribs and glanced up at the priest questioningly.

"You don't suppose this is like the ravens?" She quirked an eyebrow.

"The ravens were done intentionally, with forethought. This was unplanned, though perhaps the intensity of the incident may have forged a similar link. I would be concerned by the stability and nature of such a connection."

"Shall we find out then?"

There was a flare of excitement in the girl's eyes before they slid shut and the tips of her fingers rested fully on the tattoo. As Lewan watched the ink seemed to shift beneath her touch, swirling slightly as though it were soup stirred by an invisible spoon. The movement lasted but a second, but when Katja's eyes reopened she broke into a broad grin. Within a minute, the underbrush to their right rustled, a broad black face appearing amidst the leaves.

Katja had Lewan ease her into a kneeling position facing the bushes, ignoring the burning pain of her thighs and focussing on the yellow-green eyes in front of her. The cat was cautious, padding one great paw into the clearing and pausing to gauge the two humans within it. She tried to reach him at distance, but could not. His mind was shielded, armoured by his suspicions and mistrust.

She extended a hand in front of her, palm up, and waited. Lewan backed off slightly and lowered himself into a crouch, hoping not to distract the animal from coming forward. A second paw appeared, and the muscled mass of its front shoulders. The cat let out a barely audible rumble as the rest of its sleek form exited the bush and began pacing slowly in front of her. With each pass it came fractionally closer until it stopped, twitching whiskers tickling her fingers as it stood at arm's length. She could feel the warmth of its breath against her hand and reached out very slowly, never taking her eyes from the cat's, to touch the side of its face.

There was an immediate reaction from both sides, with Katja inhaling sharply and the panther flicking its tail rapidly in surprise. The link was not as complete as with the ravens, she realized. The cat's wariness remained, clouding her experience, where with the birds there existed an open book to be read. Still though, as she navigated the images in the panther's mind, the power and intelligence of the animal was impressive. She saw his range, his home, and the fallen intruders, who were closer to their position than she originally thought. The cat blinked in response to the odd sensation of her searching but remained still.

"Will you take us there, my friend? I would like to see these strangers for myself."

The cat pressed harder against her hand, its cheek sliding slowly up her arm until a large wet nose sniffed curiously against her neck. She couldn't help but chuckle and was rewarded with the low hum of a purr, as her new companion rubbed against her in greeting. He would lead them to the object.

"Lewan, pack up camp. Our new friend here shall guide us to where we need to be. I know we had not planned on leaving until morning, but I insist we leave now. I will be fine on horseback and the dark need not limit us."

The cat regarded him more with curiosity than any sort of aggression while he gathered the furs and removed the rabbit from the fire, dowsing the flames with a bucket of water from the nearby stream. Lewan tore a hind leg from the cooked meat and tossed it in the direction of the cat, who caught it neatly from the air and sat beside Katja, peeling the flesh from bone with obvious enjoyment. The priest wrapped the rest of the carcass in a length of hide and tucked it into his pack to eat on the trail. From her tone he knew better than to protest her decision, and so helped her onto Charon before mounting his own horse and falling into step beside her. Their guide lead the way, a good distance in front of the horses who were understandably skittish given the predator's proximity.

By morning, Katja knew they were close. The smell of smoke and something sulphurous carried on the breeze and there was a charge to the energy in this area of the forest. She saw no small animals, heard no birds, and the panther grew increasingly nervous as the sun climbed higher into the sky. The cat circled back towards the horses as they crossed a dry streambed, growling quietly. They were very close.

She dismounted, adjusting the sheath across her back and retrieving her bow and quiver from their bindings on the saddle. Lewan followed suit, his hulking frame surprisingly nimble when he hopped from his horse and readied his weapons. To his surprise she motioned for him to remain with the horses and could only scowl in frustration as he watched her pull the light grey hood of her cowl up over her head and follow the panther off to the south east.

After about a kilometer, they both dropped to a crouch on the lee side of a small hill. Voices could be heard over the banging and chopping sounds of construction. Katja quietly crawled to the crest of the rise and scanned the scene below.

In the time it had taken for them to travel down from the North, the newcomers has constructed rudimentary palisades around the exterior of the clearing they occupied. At one end sat a hulking metal mass unlike anything she had ever seen. The people, for as far as she could tell they were human, entered and exited the object by means of a great door that raised and lowered by itself. It must also be where they slept, since there was no sign of buildings or tents anywhere else in the area, only campfires, wood cutting stations, and bodies hard at work on defenses.

Her nails dug deeply into the dirt in reflex as her eyes settled on the trio of people she had seen in the cat's memories. The boy was even angrier in person, his rage and indignance rolling off of him like a dark mist. His attitude towards the others was harsh and dismissive and she watch as he cuffed a smaller boy on the side of the head for having questioned the placement of the settlement gate. Her eyes narrowed. He was unstable, dangerous, and of the three she had the least interest in making his acquaintance. The dark haired girl, whom Katja now thought to be his sister, judging from the fact that shared the same dark hair and complexion, and also the fact that she was currently talking heatedly towards him without repercussion. The sister pulled on his arm and led him away from the third of the group, the blonde, leaving the girl alone in the centre of the encampment.

Katja was no augur, but even she could feel the power of the girl's presence and her importance to future events. It wasn't forceful, or ostentatious, but rather the sort of will that came only naturally, and extremely rarely. The girl stooped to help a young girl arrange wood in a fire pit, the sun glinting off her golden hair as she smiled and rested a hand reassuringly on the child's shoulder.

For the rest of the day she remained in that position, watching the invaders tend to their camp and studying the behaviours and personalities within it. The panther retreated back into the woods, put off by the sights and smells of the camp so near to his home. The Fallen were all young, oddly so, and wildly boisterous. Squabbles broke out regularly, pushing and shoving over a seat at the main fire, yelling and threats over the use of a shovel...the group lacked cohesiveness and any sense of community. It was as though a set of individuals had been thrown together with no thought as to dynamics. The older kids struggled for power and leadership positions, tailing the trio like hopeful puppies while the younger ones ran amok. Focusing them on tasks was next to impossible and it was no wonder that the defenses had taken over a week to get even to this point. They were lucky that the Commander had not set out sooner.

Katja paid special attention to the blonde, watching as she paced the camp encouraging some, arguing with others and trying to maintain some semblance of order. Twice the girl turned towards her position, visually sweeping the rise of the hill as though she knew they were watched but each time Katja simply ducked back behind the ridge and waited. Could the girl somehow feel her? Was she some sort of seer? She hadn't been able to pick out any peculiarities in the group below, other than the raw magnetism of their leader.

As the sun set, she slid slowly down the side of the hill and returned to where Lewan had rested the horses. They were a little too close to the Fallen for her comfort, so with the help of the cat, they retreated, repositioning themselves within a shallow outcropping of rock part way up one of the nearby mountains. The view allowed for monitoring both directions of the forest road, while also offering a distant view of the object and its inhabitants. She hoped to be able to observe the newcomers for the next couple of days prior to the arrival of the party from Polis. There didn't seem to be any motive, dangerous or otherwise, for their sudden appearance nor any great motivation to extend beyond their very limited surroundings. They weren't there and then they simply were. She knew that the Clans would take a less neutral view of the fair-haired Fallen leader, but until that time, perhaps she could decipher their plans.


	6. Contact

The Commander's scouts arrived early the following day, their dark browns and moss greens blending easily into the surrounding forest. Heda had chose Trikru for her advance party and with their silent footfalls and familiarity with the terrain they had little trouble approaching the Fallen camp unseen.

Katja watched through the eyes of a raven perched high above the small group as they crouched along the same rise that she had only yesterday. Their leader, a small, wiry woman with a single thin braid running down the middle of her back, dissuaded her team from advancing further. It seemed that once they saw the rudimentary defences and the general disorganization, the six others wished to press their position. After a series of furious gestures, she put down any idea of approaching and settled in to observe.

The Fallen, their leaders included, were clueless. All the eyes of the forest were on them and yet they carried on, arguing, posturing and generally wasting precious time, much as they had for the past few days. Little progress had been made on the palisades other than the hanging of a flimsy sheet metal gate. Two guards were posted, one at either side, along raised platforms attached to the log walls. The current shift were nothing more than children, parading like idiotic parrots, their chests puffed out with pride and mock bravado. Both carried guns, which Katja found curious. Her people made no use of them but were not ignorant as to their existence or their function. That the strangers arrived toting the weapons of the Mountain Men was unsettling.

At dusk, the scout leader withdrew her party and melted back into tree cover towards the west, where the Commander's forces no doubt made ready. The dreams had been coming more regularly, and been even more vivid as the distance closed between her and the leader of the twelve clans. Sometimes serene and sometimes violent, the opposing themes and muddled images clarified nothing.

The sun set red over the ridges of the mountains, casting an eerie, unnatural glow across the canopies of Trikru territory. A dot - tiny, black, and whirling - silhouetted briefly against the scarlet disc, before plunging to skim the top of the trees, heading at breakneck speed for a small out-cropping of rock. With a final beat of its wings, the rave squawked in greeting and came to rest on Katja's outstretched arm.

She chewed her lower lip thoughtfully and turned from the view, stepping nimbly down the rock fall to the lip of a shallow cave. She gently brushed the raven from her shoulder, responding to its offended cackle with small smile. Lewan lifted his head from his books long enough to bow respectfully before continuing his studies. She nodded in return and helped herself to some of the fragrant stew bubbling quietly over the fire.

As the flames burned low, she sat cross legged alongside it, watching the embers alternately burn brightly and then fade under the fickle touch of the breeze. She tugged the edge of her hooded cowl and shivered. The nights were becoming cooler as winter approached. The newcomers would struggle to survive without aid and yet they seemed more interested in their own egos than in preparing for the harsh cold to come. They were foolish, insufferably arrogant, and did not seem to realize the precariousness of their position.

"Your thoughts are as quiet as a landslide Amin."

Lewan snapped his book closed and eyed her across the fire pit, not particularly  
heartened by what he saw. Over the past few days, dark circles began ringing themselves around Katja's often unfocused eyes. She had not been sleeping well since entering Trikru territory but it seemed that the disturbances came more frequently. He often awoke to find her slouched at the fire, staring at nothing in the light of the flame. It was his duty to be able to read her, to assist her, and he was finding it difficult to do either. Each day the ravens went out and each night they returned. He was given a simple accounting of what had been seen but the accounts were nothing more than the notes in the margin of a much larger story. So, he had buried himself in his books for the past week, reaching back into history and lore for any information that could prove useful. About the Fallen, about how to approach the  
Clans...anything. It was all he felt he could offer.

"I'm sorry Lewan," she shook her head as if to clear it, "I did not mean to disturb you."

"You didn't. It is too dark to continue reading. I only meant that your thoughts are clearly not here with us, and wondered if you care to share them?"

"Heda will arrive tomorrow. The Fallen complicate an already delicate matter. I feel unsure of what the proper route to an introduction would be given the fact that all parties are on the defensive. It will not be easy."

"Such is the Path, Amin."

"Such is the Path." She sighed and shrugged slightly, at which the priest allowed himself a small chuckle.

"It will become clear when the time comes. Just let things happen as they may."

With that they both arranged themselves for sleep and before long Lewan's breathing became regular and steady. Envious, she stared for another hour at the stars of the night's sky, her mind insisting on playing out the possibilities one more time.

–-

Dawn broke with chaos in the Fallen camp. By the time Katja had awoken and sent the raven, the enclosure was in total disarray. Smoke billowed from a structure in one corner as bodies ran frantically back and forth, accompanied by yells and the roar of the fire. By the time all was said and done, the building was a smouldering wreck, a fist fight had broken out between two of the older boys and Katja noticed with disbelief that the group had wasted two thirds of their water supply trying to save a building that had clearly been beyond salvation. They lacked even the most basic of survival skills, and apparently also common sense. Without clean water and without food, seeing that the building in question had held the majority of their reserves, they wouldn't last a week even if their defenses were flawless, which they certainly were not. The Commander would gut these misfits in record time.

The blonde one seemed to grasp the severity of the situation and rather than indulging in the arguing and finger-pointing of her companions, began marshalling volunteers to fetch fresh water, and hunt to restock their food reserves. While the others wasted time, she had managed to pull together three foursomes to draw water and twice that to venture out for food.

From the ridge below the raven, Heda's scouts withdrew immediately at the signs of expedition. Katja couldn't help but feel sorry for the Fallen, who in their panic to replenish their lost supplies, were playing directly into the hands of the Commander. No doubt the Trikru would report that the invaders were venturing beyond their flimsy defences, making them easy marks for the experienced hunters in the Clan armies.

In groups of threes and fours, the youngsters set off into the woods, paying little heed to direction or to masking their footfalls in the underbrush. Guns or no guns, their inability keep silent would not only scare off any prey they managed to stumble across, but also create a trail of broken branches, scuffed feet and noisy crunching that even a six year old could follow. For a brief moment she thought about how much easier her introduction to the Clans would go if the parallel curiousity of the Fallen were removed from the equation due to their own stupidity. Just as quickly she shrugged the thought off and followed - via the raven - the blonde one, the angry one, and a pudgy boy who danced around their heels like a dog looking for a pat on the head.

The others scattered as though the exercise was one big scavenger hunt rather than a necessity for their own survival. One group took to carving their initials in every large tree in their path while a second pelted the smaller member of the team with hunks of moss ripped from the rocks embedded along the forest floor. Katja winced inwardly.

At best, the lead group seemed to at least have purpose and determination. They kept quiet, stayed calm, and looked intently for signs of either water or food. After a couple of hours, they had filled one bag with nuts and berries and another with mushrooms that the blonde seemed able to differentiate as edible. It was hardly enough to feed a family for a couple of days, never mind a camp full of hungry teenagers, but it was something.

The angry one stooped suddenly, pointing at a path of marks in the dirt that led directly ahead. Excitedly the chubby one readied his weapon and stared down the barrel, as if the creature that made the tracks would voluntarily walk right out in front of him. The other two ignored him and slowly set off in the direction of the trail, making a decent effort to be as quiet as possible.

The raven caught sight of something shiny out of the corner of its eye and shifted to look a ways off to the right, where the dull studded armor of a scout glinted softly in the daylight. The bird saw another scout further away, well out ahead of the hunting party, creating the very tracks they were following. A trap. The Fallen were not the hunters but the hunted, being lured by their own inexperience into the clutches of the scouting party.

The blonde one paused, grabbing the shoulder of the angry one and speaking quietly under her breath. He immediately scanned their surroundings and gripped his weapon tighter. Katja couldn't tell what had tipped the group off, but before they could even seek cover, two arrows ripped into their companion, sinking deeply into his thigh and shoulder.

With a confused yelp, the boy sat heavily and dropped his gun, staring dumbfounded at the wooden shaft protruding from his leg. The blonde one was on him in a second, motioning for the other boy to help her move him behind a large rock nearby. With practiced ease, she stripped the cloth away from the wound and assessed the injury. The arrow had struck nothing critical, instead passing through the thick muscle of the thigh and protruding slightly at the back. She removed a canteen from her pack and turned back to the whimpering boy just as an arrow thudded firmly into his chest.

Before his head had even slumped forward in death, the remaining two were off and running, zig-zagging around trees and trying to put as much distance between themselves and the direction that the last arrow had come from. The pair made it about two hundred metres before first the boy, and then the blonde, were yanked violently off their feet to hang upside down, the victim of carefully placed snares. The Clan scouting party descended with an air of smug superiority on the captured Fallen leaders, rendering each of them unconscious with a none-too-gentle bash on the head and hauling them like a prized catch back towards Heda's camp.

The raven could not access the network of buildings and tunnels that made up the Clan encampment, and so had to settle for lurking above in the trees. There was no sign of the Fallen but the camp was abuzz with their arrival. A group of Azgeda were eagerly setting up a cutting post, clearly expecting that the verdict for the 'intruders' would be death. There was a small cluster of others near the entrance to one of the underground structures, curiosity seekers, but other than that, the clansfolk continued to sharpen weapons and pack supplies in preparation for battle.

After several hours, Katja considered calling the raven off. Both she and the bird were exhausted and it was requiring more and more energy to maintain contact. Just as she released it, a flash of yellow darted from one of the side tunnels and away from camp, followed closely by another figure. She blinked and found herself back in the cave, her connection lost.

Could she believe what she had seen in those last few seconds? Had the two Fallen leaders in fact escaped their captivity? She needed to know. Reaching inside her overcoat and tunic, she touched the second raven along her collarbone, feeling the familiar cooling burn along the tattooed lines that created the animal. No raven appeared. She frowned and looked up to see Lewan watching her closely, his great furrowed brow indicating displeasure.

"Amin, you need rest. You cannot expect to be of any use if you continue to wear yourself so thin."

"I am not tired Lewan, and something important has happened. There has been contact betw-..."

"Enough." The priest cut her off and approached, reaching out to swipe his index finger beneath her nose. He held it out in front of her, the tip black and wet. "You cannot go with another raven right now. I will not allow it. You are pushing too hard and have not used your gifts so much or so recklessly in the past. Too much too soon will cause more harm than the good of the information you receive."

"But-..."

"No. I rarely interfere but in this case I will not back down. I know that you know I'm right. You are drained. Rest now, and return at dusk to seek your answers."

Katja sighed and readjusted her clothing. He was, as usual, correct. She had not even the energy to call on her ravens, the easiest of her gifts to manage, and was having difficulty not falling asleep sitting up. She knew the Fallen leaders would head back to their camp and that the Clans would retaliate. A few hours would not lead to any different outcome and she needed to be able to function in important moments. There was nothing to do now but sleep, and wait. She silently wished the golden haired Fallen girl luck and swift legs, for she would need both once the Clan armies mobilised.


	7. Incendiary

Katja stared at the smouldering remains of what once was an entire division of the Commander's army. The ground around the Fallen's ship was layered in inches of solemn grey ash, bearing zero resemblance to the Clansfolk from which it had come. From her position in the sheltering boughs of an evergreen, she had watched the Clan army advance on the camp, cleverly drawing the fire of the inexperienced enemy and depleting their ammunition stores before beginning an assault on the weak palisaded walls of the Fallen home. It looked as though the army would simply wait them out, knowing that food stores were dangerously low and that they would not last long closed up in their ship. It would be an easy victory for Heda.

Suddenly, with no warning, a blinding flash of light and defeating roar devoured every living thing within a broad radius, clearing the camp of Clansfolk and singeing even the base of the tree where she hid. The devastation was complete. Where once had stood hundreds of armoured warriors, now settled the fine dust of their incinerated bodies. Only the weapons, metal clasps and studding from their gear was discernible amidst the rubble.

Katja simply blinked. She had no explanation for what she had just seen. The Fallen had seemed so helpless, stupid even, and yet now they had thinned the ranks of the Commander in less time than it took to fire an arrow. Their unexpected show of force made her view the outsiders in a new light.

The remaining forces withdrew to lick their wounds. She had not seen Heda amongst the troops, which lead her to believe that the Commander had not yet arrived. That would make this failed offensive the work of a junior, eager to impress Heda with their conquest. Instead Katja pitied them, they would likely pay for their rashness with their head. While the army was still large, the loss was great to morale and confidence. If the Fallen had this sort of weapon at their disposal, she had no doubt that the balance of power would soon shift, making her own position all the more precarious.

As though reading her thoughts, as the sun reached its peak in the sky, dark forms wove their way between the trees, the pinpoint red light of their weapons focused on the door of the Fallen ship. They were eerily silent, the large round eyes of their gas masks giving away nothing of the person within. Mountain men...she had heard of them, read of them, but had never seen one in the flesh. They picked their way through the ash, seeming unconcerned about the weapon of the Fallen. Setting up a perimeter, they made no move. Some watched the ship while others scanned the woods for the Clan army.

She stayed as still as possible, buried amongst the greenery of the conifer and waited with them, unable to move for fear of discovery. Her legs ached from crouching so long and she was certain that Lewan was in a panic over her extended absence. Finally, with a low hissing sound, the door to the object cracked open and began lowering slowly. Katja saw the Mountain Men unclip grenades from their belts and readied themselves to throw. The second that the Fallen left their shelter, the air was filled with streaks of reddish gas. Luckily the tree was upwind and she could only watch as one by one, they slumped to the ground.

The Mountain Men had no interest in killing the newcomers. Quite the opposite it seemed. Several military vehicles appeared around the perimeter of the camp, their back doors open to receive the limp bodies of the Fallen. They were loaded, like delicate cargo, into the waiting trucks. A team of Mountain Men swept the interior of the ship and retrieved the spent gas canisters from the ground before getting in the vehicles and heading off to the south east. The entire operation had taken no more than a quarter hour and the camp now stood completely empty, with little sign of the Clan army, the Fallen, or the Mountain Men.

Dumbfounded, Katja eased her way out of the tree and stood a moment staring at the metal fittings and ash littering the ground. So many lives lost in the blink of an eye. She lowered her head respectfully before melting back into the forest, returning to the mountainside cave to seek the priest's counsel.

* * *

 

 

Lexa slammed a closed fist into the large plank table in the command tent, causing even her most steady general to flinch.

"Without my permission. Without my order." Her voice was low and threatening, a feral growl that clearly voiced her fury. "Three hundred and twenty-seven warriors killed because you took it upon yourself to lead an attack."

"He-Heda…" The wiry woman who had lead the scouting party stuttered momentarily before straightening herself, "I assessed the Skaikru camp myself. It was weak, vulnerable. They could not even manage to feed themselves."

"Clearly our definition of 'weak' is quite different."

"Heda I-"

"Enough." Lexa turned calmly to face the woman, who had been her chief scout for nearly a year. "You ignored my order to wait for my arrival, you undermined my authority and allowed your ego to rule your decision-making, and as a result I have lost valuable warriors and families have lost loved ones."

The woman merely bowed her head, knowing there was no way out of the situation.

"Even if you had succeeded, your insubordination would have yielded the same result for you. I will not tolerate rogue members in my armies. You endanger us all."

Lexa gestured to two of her personal guards, who grasped the guilty party under her arms and dragged her out of the tent to the centre of camp. A tall pole had been set up, its base buried far into the ground. The guards pushed the scout firmly against the rough wood and wordlessly tied her tightly with thick rope. People had begun to gather immediately but with the appearance of the Commander, grim-faced and armed with her swords, the expectant crowd grew quickly.

"Cassandra has been a loyal member of this Coalition since its inception and I had recognized it by placing her in a position of leadership and honour." Pacing back and forth in front of the doomed woman, Heda's voice belied her slight frame, booming out over the assembled Clansfolk. "But, this recognition appears to have been misconstrued as autonomy and authority. Despite my strict order to wait for my arrival before approaching the Sky people, she took it upon herself to act in my stead, for no reason other than her own ego. Three hundred and twenty-eight of my people, of _your_ companions, paid the ultimate price for her mistake."

The crowd murmured quietly, looks of disgust and anger flashing across the faces of most in attendance. Several stepped forward from the mass, the Generals of the clans, all dressed in full armour and war paint.

"Nothing will completely erase the stain of this day, but vengeance will ease the fury of those left to deal with the loss. _Jus drein, jus daun_. Blood, must have blood!"

A roar went up for the Clansfolk and the woman at the post flinched visibly. Lexa stepped towards the Generals and extended the handle of her dagger toward the Delfikru representative.

"For each life lost, a Clan must have justice. For each life, a cut. Let the blood of the guilty flow in tribute to those who were sacrificed, and let their spirits be soothed by retribution."

The Delfikru General took the dagger with a curt nod and approached Cassandra. Leaning in to be within inches of her face, he held eye contact as he dragged the razor sharp edge of the blade down the inside of her upper arm. She ground her teeth but made no sound, accepting the punishment for her actions with what little honour she had left. The next cut sliced across her brow, a steady stream of crimson dribbling from the wound. Twenty-five cuts followed, one for each of the fallen members of Delfikru.

Each General took their turn, with Indra of the Trikru going last. Seventy-nine of her warriors had been amongst the dead, the highest loss of any Clan and she looked as though she wished she could gut the woman where she stood. By the end, Cassandra was nothing more than a collection of bleeding wounds, unrecognizable as the proud scout leader. She slumped heavily against the post, flitting in and out of consciousness in a haze of pain, with only small whimpering sounds and rasping breath escaping her lips.

Heda stood in front of her, the expressionless mask of the Commander firmly in place. Lexa drew her swords and with a practiced motion made twin cuts across the neck of the woman, severing her head from her body to land with a soft plop on the ground at her feet.

The crowd started to disperse immediately, and the Generals saluted Heda to indicate that _jus drein, jus daun_ had been satisfied. The Commander retreated to her personal tent, wiping the woman's blood from her blades with a cloth. She waved away Titus, her senior advisor, and instructed her guards that she was not to be disturbed.

Weary, she sat at the bottom of her bed and pulled off her high boots and socks, wiggling her toes in response to their freedom. Off came the pauldron, her sheathes, her gloves, and the overcoat. With a contented sigh she rose from her seat, digging her toes into the cool earth that made up the tent floor. Once everything was hung in its place, she settled in front of a basin of fresh water and a neatly folded towel, dipping her hands in and bringing them to her face. Slowly the war paint began to come off, mingling with the water in inky swirls and with it washed away the tension of the day.

Cassandra had been Trikru, as was she, and the extreme loss of life had riled the other clans into thoughts of bias. They had demanded direct compensation from Trikru and it was only the high number of Trikru who had also died and Lexa's firm handling of the issue that prevented a more serious diplomatic incident. A public execution was the only punishment to fit the crime in the eyes of the Coalition.

The execution and the incident itself were only small facets of a much larger problem that had been rolling about since news of the Sky People's fall to Earth. What were their intentions? What were their capabilities? Clearly they possessed weapons far beyond the scope of the Clan armies and were not shy about using them. Scouting reports from Cassandra's team had suggested nothing more than a disorganized group of oddly dressed youths...so how did they go from that assessment, which led one of her most experienced warriors to a fatal mistake, to a savagely efficient killing machine? She could ill afford to risk losing large numbers in repeated efforts to take the ship. There were enough problems trying to maintain control of the divisive, argumentative clans without appearing like a tragically inexperienced tactician.

What to do with the Sky People then? There had been no trace of them when the camp was searched the morning after the battle. There had been no trace of much of anything. Her trackers had found evidence of vehicles in the area, which could possibly have meant the presence of the Mountain Men, but what they would want with the newcomers was unclear. The fact that they had risked travelling so far from Mount Weather, particularly in the daylight, was unsettling. What did they know that she didn't?

She dried her face with the soft towel and sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger. The headache she had been fighting since this morning was now becoming progressively worse once her focus was removed from Cassandra's trial. She had slept poorly last night, though as much as she tried to tell herself it was because of the coming morning's events, she knew it stemmed more from the vivid images that filled her vision the second she closed her eyes.

The dreams had started infrequently, a vague sort of feeling of being watched or pursued lurking at the edges of her sleep. Gradually as time passed, she saw and more unusually - felt - a variety of things from forest setting to mountain passes, always with an insistent pressure pushing against her mind as if to gain access to her inner thoughts. It wasn't threatening, just strange. Lately the images had become more focused, with the trees and streams of Trikru land showing clearly as the backdrop. A lone figure, always just out of full sight, was often there with her, leaning casually against a tree or sitting in meditative silence in the middle of a clearing. She tried to speak with the figure, to find out the purpose of these dreams, and sometimes she got the impression that the figure was trying to speak to her as well, but they were unable to communicate. Once, weeks ago, they had made eye contact and the brilliant emerald green, sparking and shifting as though ablaze, had left her uncharacteristically breathless. Lexa had felt a desperation to maintain the contact, a panicked twisting of her stomach for fear that she would lose the connection and never again feel the weight of that hypnotic stare. When Gustus had finally succeeded in rousing her from sleep at the arrival of an important messenger, she lashed out at him, angry to have been pulled away from the overwhelming emotion of her dream.

Since then she sought it every night, but never found it. Everything returned to the sort of fragmented, scattered state of the weeks before and it frustrated her. She wanted to see the stranger again, to speak with them, to ask questions, and yet she felt in some ways further away than ever. She rested poorly, and was increasingly edgy in the mornings, a mood swing that her closest advisors and her personal guard had noted and been avoiding. Underlying it all was a sense that something was coming. Something immensely important but whether for the good or the bad she could not tell. She had thought perhaps it was the Sky People, but the dreams continued after their discovery, and last night even after the massacre of her people at their hands.

Moving to the large table that sat in the corner of the tent, she restlessly shuffled papers from one corner to the other. The Coalition was still fragile, and she still had much to do to solidify her position as Heda. Even without the Sky People, and the odd visions, there was enough work managing the egos of the respective clans for three people. These added distractions were inconvenient and threatened to unbalance the tentative peace that she had managed to forge. They would have to be dealt with swiftly, and decisively. In the case of the Sky People, there was still much they had to answer for. _Jus drein, jus daun._


	8. Allies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are we feeling? Good, bad, ugly? Drop a kudo or comment to let me know what you think. It would mean a lot! Hope everyone is enjoying it so far.

The smell of charred flesh still lingered on the breeze the following morning when Katja and Lewan approached cautiously from the west. The priest had wanted to see the scene for himself, unable to picture the obliteration of so many in so little a time. The sight was exactly as she had described it. There was nothing other than the grey ash that coated the ground around the ship. Occasionally the sun would catch the warped metal surface of a sword or a buckle but otherwise no sign of any party was visible. It was unlike anything he had ever seen, like a small contained wasteland that repelled life and light. If the Fallen possessed more of whatever did this, he hoped that he never ran afoul of their temper.

His boots kicked up a fine dust as he made his way towards the large metal capsule situated at the centre of the encampment. The treaded imprints of the Mountain Men were only faintly visible in the soft ground at the base of the structure and gave no clue as to their owners' intentions.

"We should go. Heda must be close and I doubt it would do well to be caught shuffling about in the remains of one of her armies. There is nothing here of use for the time being." Katja eyed the rise behind the camp, where both she and the Trikru scouting party had watched the newcomers unseen.

"Of course Amin. Forgive me for insisting on seeing this with my own eyes. It was difficult to imagine." The large man stooped and picked small piece of triangular metal from the ash, shining its filthy surface with his thumb. "I am thankful you were not closer."

"As am I. And no forgiveness needed in the least, I doubt I would have fully believed anyone who told me the same."

They made their way in silence back to their camp in the foothills of the mountain. It would not be long before the Commander arrived and Katja felt no closer to any sort of viable plan. It would be simple enough to march right into the centre of the Clan camp and demand an audience but given the current climate and the Clan's usual wariness of strangers, it may result in her being run through before she got much further than the perimeter guard. She could not trust the honouring of old ways to protect her, and the presence of Azgeda in the Coalition increased that risk. She would have to place her trust entirely in Heda, a woman she knew nothing about, and the only way to do that would be to have the Commander trust her in turn. The question was how.

The panther appeared from the brush beside their sheltering outcropping of rock when the sun was high in the sky and the morning chill had all but evaporated from the air. With a low rumble he pushed against Katja's back where she sat, lost in thought, on her bedroll. She raised a hand with a chuckle and he sniffed it delicately before rubbing his cheek firmly against her knuckles,

"Hello stranger," she leaned into his solid form, relishing the feel of the soft fur against the side of her face, "where have you been? Off chasing rabbits and terrorizing squirrels?"

The cat ignored her and pushed his front paws out in front of himself, lowering into a deep stretch. With a wide yawn he settled himself in a sitting position in front of her, his tail flicking calmly as he locked his gaze on the young woman's own.

He dipped his head ever so slightly in invitation and she took it, placing a hand on either side of his regal face. As her fingers slid just behind his ears, her eyes snapped shut as the first flash of images hit. Heda had reached the Fallen camp. Even with the cat's keen sight, the figure of the Commander remained shadowy and indistinct but there was no mistaking the figure's identity.

"What do you see Amin?"

"The Clan armies have arrived. Heda is at the Fallen ship. I can't see her exactly, but I can feel her. Always at edge of my sight, I can't… I can't pin her down." Frustration was evident in his charge's voice.

"She is a _natblida_ , like yourself, and no doubt shielded by both her blood and her _kepa_ , as are you. Do not focus on physical details. What else do you see; what do you feel?"

"Rage. Thick and suffocating, like a blanket. The Generals, they have their weapons out and are gesturing into the woods. She walks through them, away from the object. Her anger is different, it's cold,calculating. There's a...a group of warriors..searching the metal capsule. I feel their confusion and...awe?"

"What else? Concentrate Amin."

"Heda has found something," a crease appeared in Katja's forehead as she tried to draw more from the images shared by the cat. "Tracks. From the Mountain Men. Faint but they're there. Alarm. She's...worried. I can feel the knot of dread in the pit of her stomach even from here. They're all arguing now, some in favour of pursuit and others leaving the intruders to their fate."

"Can you find the _fleimkepa?_ Does he accompany the Commander?"

"No. Not that I can tell. They're dispersing now, back to camp. She doesn't wish to follow just yet it seems."

"Interesting…"

Katja slowly lowered her hands and leaned forward to rest her forehead against the panther's. Their link was still a struggle, and finding focus in the jumble quickly sapped her of her energy.

"You have done well my friend." She kissed his leathery nose, eliciting a soft sneeze of surprise from the massive feline. "Thank you for your help."

The cat padded silently back out of the shelter and into the woods. He seldom stayed long, not particularly trusting of Lewan nor of being hemmed in on multiple sides. He would return when he had something to share.

Lewan was pacing back and forth in front of the fire, a hand tucked up under his chin as he often did when he was thinking. The Commander was neither rash nor stupid. It gave him some hope.

* * *

 

What followed resembled more the tales of a mythmaker than actual fact. The Clan camp was a bustle of activity even in a time of its leaders inaction. Debates raged over how to satisfy _jus drein, jus draun_ given that the offending parties were now in the hands of a formidable enemy. The bloodlust of the more warlike clans clashed against the bureaucracy of the diplomatic and Lexa struggled to keep both her sanity and her temper.

She had hoped that they could come to an agreement, furthering the function of the general council and continuing to build on the unstable foundation of Clan cooperation. It instead was like being locked in a room of petty children so focussed on the minutiae that they had lost sight of the bigger picture. It was obvious she would have to step in and make the decision, as she should have done from the beginning.

Just when she thought the bickering would know no end, the small party of Sky People had arrived, led by the golden haired one they called Klark. The death of Anya had been tough to swallow, as had the knowledge that her warrior had been open to a sort of alliance with these invaders.

As the stories of Mount Weather were told, and the horror of what went on there became clear, the fury served to unite the Clan generals. It was the catalyst that Lexa had needed for them to work together. They did not, however, want anything to do with the Sky People, and agreement was almost unanimous that they should be cut down where they stood. The Commander had other ideas.

If they were to assault Mount Weather, these Sky People possessed the technology and knowledge to turn a certain bloodbath into a potential victory. That Clans had no experience with the guns and defenses that ringed the mountain and to attack alone would be suicide. The losses were still likely to be high, but the opportunity to eradicate the Mountain Men once and for all was too great to turn down.

They set out at first light two days later, the full force of the Commander's army moving with singular purpose towards Mount Weather. The trip, although through the sheltering boughs of Trikru lands that Lexa knew like the back of her hand, was still dangerous for within the mossy undergrowth and ancient rockfall were areas frequently used for ambush by Reapers. Sub-human creatures concerned only with killing, they appeared and disappeared just as quickly with a crazed aggression that was both unpredictable and difficult to counter. They had no concern with their own well being and would just as soon run themselves onto a blade if they thought they could get to you in the process. Most of the Clansfolk regarded them as evil spirits, but they bled like humans and had instincts reminiscent of the _pauna_ that roamed the wilds. They could be killed.

Heda set out extra guards, both to watch the trees for Reapers and to keep more eyes on their Sky People 'guests'. The one called Bellamy was particularly bothersome. Three times already this morning Klark had had to step in between him and a Clansman to avoid it coming to blows. His temper was a liability, but under it and his incredible arrogance was logic and strategy. It was a dangerous combination and if he didn't seem so important to his leader, Lexa would have quietly disappeared him.

"You know this would be a lot safer if you'd let us have our weapons, _Commander._ " The last word was spat with a sneer, a fact not missed by Indra whose hand went to her sword.

"Safer for whom, sky boy."

"If the Reapers come, we can kill ten for every one you manage with sharp sticks and clubs. Guns are efficient, easy kills. Let us protect ourselves."

"It's not the effectiveness of your weapons that I question, it's at what target they will be pointed. I would not be surprised to find that your people had 'trouble' telling the difference between Reaper and Clanfolk."

"What can I say? An animal is an animal." Bellamy smirked back and shrugged.

Indra was on him in a second, wrapping her fingers none-too-gently around the insolent boy's throat. Though considerably smaller, she had little difficulty keeping her grip despite his strength.

"Please let him go!" Clark appeared at Lexa's side with a pleading look. "He didn't mean that...and he does have a point, we can help, we can help get everyone safely to the mountain if you treat us less like prisoners and more like allies. If you want our help, you'll need to start trusting us."

"Trust?" A bark of laughter escaped Indra's lips. "Trust is earned. Tell me _Skaiprisa_...what have you and your people done worth our trust?"

"Indra, enough. Release him." Lexa sighed inwardly. Her warriors had taken to calling Klark Sky Princess, not in an honorary tone but one of mockery and condescension. It was disrespectful, but currently the least of her worries.

"Arm them."

"Heda…."

"Arm them! Now. All except him." Lexa waved dismissively at Bellamy. "He will have to make due with...sharp sticks and clubs."

Chuckles rolled through the assembled Clan warriors as Indra let him go with a shove. Gustus saw immediately to the distribution of the small store of guns the intruders had brought with them before stopping to give Bellamy the smallest hunting knife in his belt. With an exaggerated bow and a malicious smile he returned to Lexa's side. With any luck that one would be killed quickly and he would no longer have to swallow his arrogance.

"Commander.." Clark started in again in Bellamy's defenses but was cut off immediately.

"No. That is final. And if any of the others attempt to arm him, or look even the slightest bit twitchy, kill them."

Clark fell in step beside the Commander as Lexa stalked off to the front of the column, leaving half of her personal guard to babysit. Clark found herself needing to almost jog in order to keep pace.

"Commander I…"

"Do your people all have this incessant need for conversation Klark Kom Skaikru, or am I just blessed to be in the company of one?" Lexa shot the blonde an exasperated look. It would be difficult to hear anything in the surrounding woods with these idiots yammering in their ears. The notions of caution and quiet seemed foreign to them. She tugged her scarf tighter around her head, the scarlet fabric thick and warming against the cutting wind whistling through the trees.

Clark shut her mouth and took to scanning the woods. She found the Commander near impossible to deal with. The woman was blunt, bossy and harsh. Her people seemed unfazed by it, so Clark assumed these to be desirable personality traits for the Grounders, but Clark struggled to know when and how to say things in a way that was appropriate.

Katja watched the exchange with great interest through the eyes of her ravens. The tables were turning at such an incredible rate that missing even a few hours of surveillance meant potentially missing the turning of the tides. The Commander seemed to trust the Fallen leader beyond what was reasonable. The concessions she was making were unexpected and risky. Defeating the mountain would certainly solidify Heda's position and reputation among her people, but it meant relying heavily on the unsteady alliance with the Fallen, who seemed very hesitant to be involved. It was not a happy marriage of either ideals or approaches and had all the makings of a disaster.

The second raven, flying out in front of the army, pushed frantically against her mind. She blinked, switching to a perspective low to the ground where the bird sat perched on a fallen log. Directly ahead was the a dark circle, the gaping entrance to one of the many underground tunnels that she and Lewan had discovered in their travels. The raven hopped closer, its eyes adjusting to the darker area to show a large party of heavily armed Reapers massing just out of sight. It was no skirmishing party, it was far too large.

The raven clicked its beak and flapped two hundred feet back along the trail to a similar opening...with similar contents. Katja sucked in a breath and tried to count but lost track in the milling rows of forms. The Clan army was on a collision course with a sizeable group of Reapers.

"Amin?" Lewan had turned at the sound and became alarmed by the look of panic on Katja's face.

"Pack up camp. We need to leave, NOW."

Without questioning, he rapidly began dismantling their small camp with practiced speed. Within ten minutes, the horses were packed and saddled. Working together they did their best to erase signs of their stay before hopping astride their mounts.

"They are in danger. Reapers will hit the army within two hours time Lewan. And it is not a disorganized effort. It's almost as if they were...planning."

Lewan frowned and spurred his horse into a canter beside Charon. Reapers were mindless killing machines. They had come across the remains of some of the creatures' excursions numerous times and the wreckage was sickening. For them to be laying in wait, en masse, seemed uncharacteristic.

"We can reach them if we hurry."

"And what will we do once we do, Amin? We are as likely to get shot as attackers as we are to receive a warm welcome."

"I know. But we cannot lose this Commander, she must survive to lead the Coalition, or else we might as well tuck tail and run home. She is the best and only bet we have. Let's work from the sidelines, pick off and take out any enemies we can without exposing ourselves to the main force. Treetops and bows, stealth and blades."

"Our specialty." Lewan grinned. He had felt stale and old for weeks now, relegated to cooking and reading and watching. The opportunity for a real fight got his blood flowing again. "I dare say we two can be of more use than that pack of Fallen from what you've said."

"I hope so. Heda will need all the help she can get."


	9. Reapers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey guys thanks for the reads, nice welcome over here at Ao3. I realize that OC fics can be a bit of a challenge for those who are interested more in established characters they know and love from the show, so thanks for the support!

As the two riders reached the rear of the army, a horn sounded in the distance and immediately the Trikru escort drew their weapons and readied for an attack. Katja and Lewan skirted the edge of the warriors, staying out of sight while urging their mounts towards the head of the column where Heda and the Fallen leader were last seen. As though summoned by the horn itself, the large party of Reapers emerged from a series of covered tunnels opening off to the left side of the path, their wild eyes and snarling faces terrifying the inexperienced Skaikru.

Katja pulled her bow up and nocked an arrow at a full gallop. She gave Charon free rein and sighted along the feathered shaft to the exposed rib cage of a charging Reaper, not even watching to see the arrow thud solidly into its mark. The melee had begun in earnest, with Trikru and Skaikru fighting with disorganization and panic while the Reapers squeezed in from all sides. She dismounted and scampered part way up a tree, firing two arrows from her perch that found a home in the backs of two Reapers approaching the Skaikru group. The blonde one was sandwiched in their midst, and the rest were wasting both ammunition and energy reacting to every enemy movement they saw.

She neatly downed three more attackers by the Skaikru fighters and slid out of her perch. She sought out, and found, the Commander dispatching a clearly overmatched Reaper with ease. Several more were closing on her position, the red scarf a beacon to the swarming marauders. Deciding that the Skaikru had more than enough help, Katja scrambled to her right, edging around the fighting to more easily provide support for Heda should she need it.

Lewan, meanwhile, had released his horse and moved on foot around behind two Reapers eager to make their way through a seam in the defenses. Grabbing the smaller by the back of the head, he slammed it viciously into a nearby outcropping of rock, the sickening crunch leaving no doubt as to the severity of the injury. The other spun around quickly and swung a heavy, rusted axe, which the priest side-stepped quickly, countering by thrusting his dagger up over the outstretched arm to embed itself in the creature's throat. Without so much as a whimper, the Reaper clutched its neck and slumped to the ground. Lewan melted back into the trees, a small smile curling the edge of his lips as he angled towards a new target.

Lexa's sword made contact just below the hardened leather vest worn by the snarling Reaper that had engaged her. She had been trying to make her way to Klark. They had become separated almost immediately when the fracas started, and it was with great irritation that she noticed Bellamy had dragged the blonde to the group of armed Skaikru. His lack of belief in her people's ability to protect the group was infuriating and she let some of that anger show, growling as her blade arced through the air, slicing deep into the Reaper's side. With a strangled cry it dropped its own blade and wrapped gloved fingers around the Commander's weapon, his snarling hatred fading quickly to a whisper as he sank to his knees at her feet.

Lexa pressed a boot to his chest to withdraw the sword and glanced up to pick her next mark. The sounds of battle were everywhere, from the rough clang of metal on metal to the angry cries of both Trikru and Reaper. The ambush had caused chaos. Skaikru fired wildly at most anything that moved, wasting ammunition and endangering their own allies, while what the Reapers lacked in tactics they made for with a complete and utter disregard for self-preservation. Trikru, she noted with satisfaction, had already begun to regroup and wedge the feral fighters back towards the tunnels.

A flash of orange slid rapidly behind the trunk of a large tree directly in front of her and before she even had time to twitch, the telltale whistle of a well-shot arrow brushed by the hair at her left temple. At the sound of a dull thump and surprised grunt behind her, she yanked her blade from the ribs of her opponent, slicing easily through his still-clutching hands and spun to see a second, larger Reaper with his axe extended over his head as though paused in mid-slash. The Commander crouched into a defensive stance to parry the blow, but soon realized it was unnecessary. The hulking attacker tipped slowly backwards, dead, with an arrow protruding from his left eye socket. She turned to look back at the unknown bowman, but saw nothing.

The experience of the Clansfolk quickly served to overwhelm their opponents, whose frantic, head on charges and suicidal tendencies were no match for an army that functioned as a collective unit. The fighting came to a close with the retreat of the remaining Reapers into the maze of tunnels that ran under and around The Mountain. Hesitant to follow, the Trikru warriors looked toward their general, Indra, for her command. As eager as she was to eliminate every last Reaper that The Mountain expelled into her lands, she knew her party was ill-prepared to pursue and waved them off, instead seeking out her Commander.

As the Clans began to gather the wounded, she found Lexa staring off northwards into the forest, gaze unfocused and a puzzled scowl furrowing her brow.

"Heda?" The Commander did not acknowledge even having heard, her arms crossed tightly across her chest and eyes remaining fixated on the base of a tree some sixty feet away.

"Heda..." Indra's familiar voice, slightly louder, succeeded on the second attempt to break into her thoughts. Lexa blinked and turned to address her companion, a puzzled look vanishing beneath a calm facade.

"Casualties?"

"We have lost fourteen warriors, and have twice as many wounded." Indra bowed slightly as she spoke, a hand resting casually on the pommel of the sword at her waist.

"And Skaikru? Klark?"

"Five wounded, none killed." Her general's disdain for the Sky People was evident. Lexa ignored it. "Klark kom Skaikru is unharmed and tending to the wounded."

"Good. Bandage what can be bandaged. Release those who cannot be moved. We need to reach camp by nightfall. Any further delay risks more Reaper attacks."

"Sha, Heda." Indra began turning to see to the preparations when the Commander's hand on her shoulder stilled her.

"Who wore orange this day?"

"Heda?" The question was an odd one. Indra turned back and regarded the Commander with no small amount of confusion.

"Who else wore orange, or red? Clothing. Armor. Anything."

"i do not know Heda, but I can check our people and the Skaikru..." Indra frowned, unsure of where this line of questioning was headed. She knew that none of the Trikru would be so presumptuous but did not put it past the ignorant Sky People, whose capacity for disrespect seemed boundless. She glanced over at the small cluster of them, but could find no bright color amongst the dark blue and black that they favored.

"I checked the Skaikru Indra. Our people. The Reaper dead...I can find it nowhere. And yet I know what I saw, just not who. I owe that person my life."

Indra blinked in response, as the Commander seemed not to be talking directly to her, but musing quietly to herself. Her face normally wore a mask of reservation but at this moment was open, showing curiosity and concern. It was unusual behaviour for the Commander, but no sooner did Indra complete that thought than the mask slammed back into place and Heda dismissed her brusquely to prepare to leave.

Indra marched off towards her Trikru warriors, shaking her head as she watched Clarke struggle to stabilize a woman oozing blood from several clearly fatal wounds on her torso. Why was she wasting her time? There were others in need of aid that could die while this...Skaiprisa spent her time on one who would not live to see the next hour.

She flicked her wrist towards Clarke's stooped figure and the two Trikru nearest to her hauled her roughly away from the woman by her armpits. Indra knelt beside the fallen warrior, whose face was unfamiliar, and slid her dagger from its place on her belt. Clarke, realizing her intent, kicked out at her handlers.

"What are you doing?! You can't be ser-..." Her protests cut off in a choked gasp as she watched Indra lean in close to the woman and speak quietly in the grounder language. The woman nodded almost imperceptibly at her General, who sliced firmly across her throat. The flow of blood was heavy for a moment, scarlett and viscous, before slowing as the tension left the injured warrior's body. Indra wiped the blade against the sleeve of the woman and rose, sheathing it back at her belt and turning with contempt to Clarke.

Clarke, for her part, was furious.

"You killed one of your own people! I was trying to help her! She could have lived!"

"She would not have lived." Indra snorted and regarded the girl coolly. "And if you could not see that, then you are blind as well as foolish. Help those that can be helped Sky Girl. And if you cannot do what needs to be done..." She gestured to a heavily bearded Trikru. "...then Nyko will do it for you."

The man, whom Clarke had believed to be a healer, nodded in understanding and waved a hand for Clarke to be released. He led her forcefully towards a man slumped against a tree, a Reaper arrow lodged firmly in his thigh. Under the watchful glare of the Trikru general, the rest scattered to prepare for the continued march towards camp.

The Commander, meanwhile, had retraced her steps on the battlefield and stood over the corpse of the Reaper whose axe was still clutched in one hand over his head. She crouched beside him, eyeing the arrow that stuck neatly out of his face. With a yank, she tore it from the socket and wiped the tip clean on the fallen man's pants.

She knew most of the Clans arrow styles, from the colour and density of the fletching to the shape and design of the pointed tip. This was unlike any she had seen. The feathers, carefully trimmed into aerodynamic wedges at the far end, were jet black, as was the wood used to make the shaft. With a fingernail she scratched at the wood, surprised to see that the colour was not the result of paint, but rather appeared to be the natural hue of whatever material had been used to craft it. The tip didn't bear the serrated design favoured by the Trikru, nor cross-bladed sort popular with the Clans to the south. Instead it was very flat, sleek, with the two points at the base curling menacingly into tiny hooks. This arrow was designed to do as much damage coming out, as going in. There were markings as well, grooves in the metal that she did not get the chance to examine thoroughly, as the Sangedakru General called her towards him to discuss the location of the evening encampment.

She tucked it quickly into her own quiver and moved back towards the group.

A safe distance from the Clan army, Katja whistled low, calling Charon from his hiding spot in the brush. The fiery horse seemed aggravated to have missed out on the action and let her know as much with a playful nip on her shoulder.

"You're rather conspicuous old friend. Not like I could ride up on my ferocious steed and not attract attention you know." Charon whickered in response and Katja heard a laugh from her right as Lewan and his mount appeared.

"Such fearsome beasts we have in our party Amin. Over eager to get their hooves dirty."

"Not unlike one of their riders." Katja chided softly, the beaming happiness evident on Lewan's face reminding her that his was not an Order of book learning and quiet prayer.

"My apologies Amin. I mean no disrespect to the lives lost today. I had worried, however, that I had forgotten which end of a knife did the stabbing."

"And is the question resolved?" She couldn't help but smile.

"Indeed, Amin. The pointy end."

The smile cracked into quiet laughter as she walked Charon further into the trees. She had to admit that it was invigorating, after such a long period of waiting and watching, to at least feel as though she were doing something to actively further their progress.

They continued to shadow the army, staying well north of the perimeter patrols and keeping watch for further Reaper incursions, though none occurred. They risked a small fire once Heda's kru had settled in for the night, keeping the flames low for warmth while they chewed thoughtfully on tough pieces of hard tack. Katja's could not stop herself from replaying her arrow sinking into the eye of the huge Reaper as the Commander wrenched her sword from a second. She had been swift, ducking out from behind the tree for only an instant to loose the arrow, but the Commander had chosen that exact moment to look up from her quarry. Katja had no doubt that she had been seen. Heda spent a great deal of time staring at the large oak that had been her cover, and much to Katja's dismay, had taken her arrow from the fallen man before she had a chance to retrieve it.

She had been unable to guess the reaction of the Commander, who from the distance and from behind the wrapping of the red scarf, she could see little of. The woman was smaller than she had expected, both in height and frame. Not exactly the sturdy battle matron that she had in mind as Naomi had relayed stories of the new Commanders prowess. From what she had seen, Heda relied on quickness and agility, combining strategic thinking with a natural inclination for a good fight.

The battle with the Reapers had been too muddled for her to spend much time focused on the Commander, and she had longed to remain to watch the aftermath in order to try and learn more about the woman she had come so far to meet, but she knew it wasn't prudent to hang about, especially with Heda's interest in the arrow and its shooter. The woman continued to be a puzzle and one that she was no closer to sorting out.

That night, as her eyes slid closed in the silence of the forest, the dreams began immediately, lucid and consuming. She was drowning. Or suffocating, she could not be sure, but the pressure against and inside her chest made it impossible to draw breath. Pain seared its way along her left side and her heart felt as though it could burst at any moment. Black liquid - blood - poured unendingly from her mouth and pooled at her feet, the level rising with each passing second. It was unbearable. Tears flowed freely down her dirt-streaked cheeks and her fingers curled into grotesque expressions of torment as she remained a prisoner inside her own body. The blood quickly reached her knees, it's metallic tang heavy in the air, as her brother Toran's voice pierced the silence.

"A fool's errand."

She tried to shake her head but could not force her muscles to respond.

"This Commander is nothing. She will not allow you to help her. She will be your end, as her predecessor was our parents'."

Those words from his mouth, real or not, were like a punch to the gut. She gagged.

"You know this to be true. In your soul you know this. You have been cautious and timid. You do not trust her, you do not believe in her or in these people's belief in the old ways. You are afraid. Come home. Come home to me and your friends, we miss you terribly. Stop this silly quest for peace and admit what you already know...the time has passed for such idealism. We are safe here in The Wastes."

Anger boiled in her veins at his words and fought the easy sense of relief that would come were she to accept them as truth. She knew this could not be him, was not him, but rather her own fears speaking in a voice they believed she would heed. Despite their differences of opinion her brother would never interfere with her own Path. Its sacredness had been ingrained in them since the time they were old enough to speak, and his respect for her decisions was absolute.

She coughed violently, refusing both his words and the control of the paralyzing doubts that held her hostage. Slowly she was able to regain movement, first of her toes, then her fingers. Her limbs followed and soon she was shooting up through the darkness of the void, breaking the inky surface to emerge beneath the night's sky, sputtering and chilled to the bone.

"Safe for how long?!" She yelled angrily at their gently winking light.

Miles away, Lexa awoke with a start, shirt damp and breathing ragged, that single phrase echoing loudly in her head.

 


	10. Klark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Switching up the timeline a little bit. A little more Clark-centric on this one for those Griffin fans out there. Will trade high fives for comments, let me know what you think!

Four days time it took for the force to arrive at the perimeter of the Mountain's defenses. Clark and Lexa halted their people just beyond the range of the acid fog, a distance determined years ago through multiple failed attempts at siege.A plan that relied heavily on the talents of the Sky People had been put into motion that would see Bellamy Blake infiltrate the mountain to disable the acid fog, allowing for the further approach of the armies to the main doors of the underground compound. Wick and Raven, the engineering specialists, would disarm the generators powering the door locks and override the controls. As backup, a potent rigging of explosives had been prepared to blow the door in the event that the generators could not be shut down.

The Clansfolk, with their small accompaniment of Sky People, set up camp within the malignant shadow of the feared peak. Some whispered prayers to ward off evil, others stared into the trees as though the very branches might suddenly attack. They rarely questioned the decisions of the Commander but the rumblings were many and frequent that her trust in the trespassers would lead only to death. None thought that Clark and her kru would overcome the might of the mountain with only a dozen bodies and their brains. Lexa paced ceaselessly in the command tent, worried that perhaps they were right.

Clark, sensing the tension and unease in the camp, did what she could to bridge the growing gap between both sides. She checked in with Raven regularly to see if her friend had been able to concoct something to counteract the fog. She had not. Clark attempted conversation with Gustus and Indra, but received little in the way of response. Octavia was outright avoiding her, preferring to spend time alone or in the company of Grounder warriors. And then there was Lexa.

Lexa remained a puzzle that Clark couldn't seem to solve. The Grounder way of life was brutal and barbaric and she had great difficulty resolving it with the the glimpses of compassion and humanity that rose in the Commander's eyes every so often. Despite multiple private discussions, the only certainty Clark had gained was that Lexa was liable to do the the exact opposite of whatever she herself would do in a given situation. It caused a great deal of conflict and lost tempers. Clark knew that the Commander only agreed to the plan to save her own people and cared not a whit about the group from the Ark. She also knew that Lexa risked much by accepting. She too heard the discontent and friction within the Coalition at the Commander's alliance, however temporary, with the Sky People. The plan had to work, there was too much riding on it.

Maintaining communications between Raven and Wick on the outside, and Bellamy, who had snuck into Mount Weather in order to disable the acid fog, proved difficult. The Mountain Men continued to try jamming frequencies and only through the constant reworking of the equipment and their combined ingenuity were Raven and Wick able to keep contact.

Bellamy had to work inconspicuously, stealing the uniform and badge of a fallen guard to explore the interior while not arousing suspicion. Security around the acid fog room was steep, and he did not have the clearance to gain access. While he tried desperately to find a workaround, he was well aware that the army massed outside the doors waited impatiently for his signal.

* * *

Katja and Lewan watched all of this from a safe distance, using the ravens to pick up snippets of the plan and piece together from captured images and fractured speech, the complex series of events that were required to achieve success. It seemed unlikely. Worse still it was difficult to discern where opportunity lay to help. Neither of them had the technological expertise to assist with the fog or the generators and short of revealing themselves to the Commander, the best they could hope for on the outside would be to once again play the game at the edges.

It felt cowardly. It chafed Lewan's sense of honour to be relegated once more to secrecy, though he knew caution was, for now, still the best course. He watched as Katja sat cross-legged, her eyes closed as she flew with the black feathered scouts that were their only source of information. Despite her efforts to remain impassive over the week he saw her nerves, and felt her indecision. She struggled to rest, had little appetite, and looked as pale as the pure white flowers that dotted the surrounding forest. If she continued like this she would be in no condition to face the challenges of re-establishing the position of the _'Kovakeryon_ within Heda's council.

He, as her advisor, should be advising but the plain fact of the matter was that the Fallen had been unexpected, and had created an environment that bordered on riotous within the already strained bonds of the Coalition. They knew nothing of custom, or of tradition and from what he could see, most of the clans had either forgotten, or scoffed at the same. It made matters much more delicate.

And so they waited, just as the Clan army waited, for the sign from Bellamy that the fog was no longer a threat. Lewan spent the hours buried in texts pertaining to the Ascension of Commanders and the Conclave, protocols he knew inside and out, hoping to find something new of use to ease introductions when the time came.

Katja, feeling cooped up, excused herself from camp and walked a line just parallel to the army, settling herself on a mossy boulder amongst a mass of ferns. In the dampened silence of the woods she could hear the clamour of the Clan encampment through the trees to her right. The clank of cups and several rounds of raucous laughter made it obvious that not all were spending their time fretting the details. She sighed in quiet jealousy, wondering, not for the first time, what it would be like to have a normal life. To know love, to drink with friends, to spend more time worrying about the harvest and the hunt than peace and the Coalition. Those times were behind her now. Her friends and family far away in the Wastes, the harvest and hunt as inconsequential as drop of water in an ocean of cares.

The snap of a twig alerted her that she was not alone and the defeating silence that spread in its wake confirmed that her company was not the priest, who would have made his identity immediately known. She cursed under her breath and without turning around, pulled a small throwing knife from the set on her belt.

A frond of fern rustled ever-so-slightly directly behind her and the source of the noise cleared her throat.

"I see someone else has found my rock."

The voice, low and supple, was instantly recognizable. Katja nearly choked before collecting herself and focussing on sliding her mask into place. Quickly the green fired eyes that marked her lineage dulled to a more commonplace hue. What was the Fallen leader doing so far from camp?

"Don't worry, I won't tell the generals I found a fellow loner out in the woods. I suspect we're both after the same things...some peace and quiet." Clark tried to sound as non-threatening as possible. She had not expected to find a Grounder outside the perimeter guards and was uneasy about the reception she was about to receive. "Your people certainly know how to let off steam. I'm impressed, even if my headache is not. My name is Clark, from Skaikru…"

"I know who you are, Skaiprisa," Katja rose slowly, deftly palming the knife back into its small sheath. She tried to affect the scorn so often directed at the girl by the Clansfolk. "And it is you who should be glad that _I_ will not inform the generals of your attempted desertion."

"Attempted...what? No. No no." Clark looked affronted, even though the stranger's back was still turned. "I come here to think. To prepare in my own way for what lies ahead. My people are trapped in that mountain, sure as yours. I would never desert them."

She eyed the figure in front of her, average height and slight of build. The clothing was different than anything she had seen to date in the Grounder army. A pale grey tunic, long and split up the outside of the thigh, fell just below the knee. Beneath it were baggy trousers of a darker shade that disappeared into high boots darker still. Around the waist sat a wide belt of walnut-toned leather, matching the colour of the twin sheathes that met in an 'X' across the back. Beneath the belt lay a carefully folded swath of saffron cloth, a colour that Clark had yet to see since leaving the Ark. The Grounders favoured dark tones and neutrals, and it was almost jarring to find a flash of colour on any but the Commander, whose signature red stood out in the dull monotony of her army. There was much she didn't know about these people however, so she assumed this to be a clan with which she had not yet come into contact.

Katja concentrated a moment on her breathing before turning to face Clark. Even still, being confronted with the blonde merely feet away from her after so many weeks of observation made her breath hitch. The lightness of her hair, not common amongst her own people, was exceeded in its beauty only by the intense blue of the girl's eyes. Sky blue. Brilliant. Curious. She felt herself staring and quickly gestured to the chunk of stone beneath their feet.

"I will leave you to your thoughts then."

"Uh, please, if you'd like, stay. Tell me more about your clan, and the Coalition. There's so much that I don't know, that I'd like to understand." Clark fumbled slightly over her words, not wanting to appear too eager but the temptation to speak one-on-one with a Grounder other than the coalition leaders was too much to resist. Not to mention there was something about the stranger that intrigued her. Between the odd clothes, and the curious accent, with its inflection and unique cadence, this was not your average run of the mill warrior.

"What do you care of my people Klark kom Skaikru? Around you is only death. I was there that day, by your ship, when you eradicated hundreds of people without pause." Katja raised her head to meet the girl's eyes, green on blue. She saw the pain shimmer there a moment at her words.

"Without pause? What were we to do exactly with a small army of strangers trying to wipe us off the face of the earth? What choice did we have?" Pain flaired into indignation. "Your people attacked us unprovoked. We knew nothing of you or your ways."

"Is it true that you fell from the stars?" Katja interrupted Clark's tirade before it could gather much steam, deflecting the conversation to safer topics. She had not anticipated the Sky Girl's vehemence. Thankfully, Clark took the cue and stepped closer, lowering herself onto the Rock and motioning that Katja should do the same.

"We did," she stated as the other girl settled across from her. "We lived in things like the ship you saw, only much larger. Every day we would stare down to earth and wish nothing more than to return to the surface. It was an obsession for some."

"Why did you wait so long to return?" Katja steered away from inquiries about herself, instead peppering Clark with questions of her own.

"We didn't think it was safe. When the bombs exploded, the radiation..the, uh, residue that they left behind, poisoned everything. Plants, animals, people. It stays for a long time, we didn't know exactly how long, and so we were always afraid that it was too soon."

"They sent you. To check." It was a statement, not a question.

Clark's mouth opened and then closed reflexively. She peered closer at Katja, finding the contours of her face within the shadows of the hood the girl kept so close about her. Despite her efforts to be open minded, she nonetheless found most Grounders about as perceptive as the boulder on which they sat. And yet here was one that spoke eloquently, digested, formulated and read her clearly as an open book.

"Yes," was all the response she could muster, a hint of betrayal echoing in the single word.

"And now you will all come…"

"Maybe, I don't know, they probably think we're all dead." Clark sighed sadly and refocused her thoughts. "And now we're here in the middle of an old war, hated by all sides and just trying to survive. The Commander is the only thing standing between us and a very ugly death. You would just as soon gut me I'm guessing, than to give me a chance."

"You guess wrong. Not all of the Clansfolk are so single-minded and battle eager. Some want peace. A chance to end the constant bickering and bloodshed and live without fear."

"And you? Which group do you fall in?"

"The latter."

"Can I ask your name?"

"You may, but I'm sorry I will not give it. I don't relish the idea of it getting back to ears that would punish me from slipping through the patrols." Katja allowed herself a small grin of apology.

"I won't mention you to anyone, especially not the Commander, I swear."

"You're fortunate to have had the opportunity to meet her in person, Skaiprisa…" This time there was no mockery in the nickname, only a twist of wistfulness that hung heavy in the afternoon air.

"You've never met her?"

"No."

"And yet you fight for her? Risk your life? Why?"

"I told you, I am in the latter group. I have never met this Heda in the flesh, but she is the Commander, like all Commanders before her, and I would gladly give my life. This is bigger than she, or I. I seek a lasting peace. In the short time since her Ascension she has united the Clans, however tenuously, and sent ripples of hope throughout all of the territories," Katja's low, melodic tone rose slightly. "She is the one who will achieve it, the one who has the strength to pursue peace at all costs. _Weron bilaik soncha, seintaim bilaik trikova_."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Just an old saying that no ones uses anymore," the girl smiled and shook her head softly.

"What does it me-..." Clark was interrupted by the sound of crashing footfalls through the underbrush as an inebriated Grounder stomped further than necessary away from camp to relieve himself. She scrambled to her feet and hid behind a nearby tree trunk, turning to tell her companion to do the same.

Katja was gone.

Clark waited until the Grounder ambled his way back to camp and then made her own way into the circle of torchlight. Keeping her promise, she said nothing to anyone of her random encounter in the woods, instead heading straight for her tent, rolling the strange Trigedasleng words awkwardly around on her tongue.

* * *

_Weron bilaik soncha, seintaim bilaik trikova_. Where there is light, there is also shadow.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Some very familiar faces in this one, limited mind you but not for much longer I promise. Shortly you'll have all the Lexa, Clarke, Octavia, etc. that you can handle. You'll probably notice that I've extended the time that humans spent life living on the station by, oh, a couple hundred years. I found the existing timeline very unrealistic. To have erased past culture and formed a new one, with extensive back history, vastly different technological capabilities and multi-generational lineages in the span of less than a hundred years felt very forced. Hope you don't mind, and that you're enjoying the spin off so far.

Katja had expected a scolding from Lewan for being caught unawares in the woods. A scolding was exactly what she had gotten when she returned to their camp and told him of the meeting with the Fallen leader.

"What if it had been an Azgeda?!"

"I know."

"What if it was a Mountain Man?"

"Lewan, _I know_. It was foolish to be so distracted. I know." Her gloved hands twisted nervously behind her back. It had been years since the priest had directed his anger directly at her, and the sight of the immense man, his face the colour of a ripe tomato, was enough to make her feel like a 10 year old girl all over again.

"You could be dead."

"But I'm not. And I met Klark."

"A happier ending than you deserve for your carelessness."

"She's...remarkable. Not at all what I expected." Katja attempted to diffuse his temper by tempting his curiosity. "She understands little of our ways and lacks confidence because of it. Still, underneath that was an immense strength."

"Amin, don't try to-"

"Heda must feel it too." Katja kept talking, right over him, and without so much as a breath between sentences. "There's no logical reason to put up with that sort of naïveté unless she has the same sense that I do. The Skaikru has an important role to play in this. Klark even more so."

"Fine, fine." He shook his head in defeat and raised his hands, palms out. "Tell me everything again. Every detail."

She laughed quietly and proceeded to do just that, spending the rest of the evening dissecting her conversation with Clark. It was near dawn when they finally settled into their bed rolls. Still they hadn't seen or heard word from within the mountain. Was the sky boy dead? What was taking so long? The anxiety gnawed at her, making it impossible to sleep. She rolled over to watch the steady rise and fall of her companion's chest as he slept soundly, begrudging him his easy rest.

By the time Lewan woke in the morning, Katja had already prepared a simple breakfast, leaving his share to warm by the coals while she sat across from him, immersed in one of his texts.

"What could possibly be so enthralling at this hour?" He yawned and stretched, squinting at the title of the book. "Life in the Stars: The Legacy of the Stations. You know the Elders used to mock me for carrying that. A book of fantasy and legend they called it. The irony."

"Hundreds of years up there Lewan….can you imagine?"

"No Amin, I cannot."

"They had to filter their air and shade themselves from the sun's rays, and yet from what Klark said, they were so paranoid of 'dangerous' conditions here at the surface. It's strange."

"Fear is a funny thing." He picked at the fried bread warming in the pan and ate his entire portion in three solid bites. "It makes people do things they may later regret. Most would rather deal with a fear they know than risk a new one that feels foreign."

"Well that puts us in a very awkward position doesn't it. We will be the new fear, the new risk when the Coalition finds out I even exist. There's nothing stopping them from responding exactly as during the purges. Azgeda was clever, and likely will be again, using the suspicion of "black magic" and misinformation against people who lived only to advise."

"It was that power to advise that sealed the fate of your forebearers I'm afraid. It may well seal yours. Nia will seek to discredit you and if she cannot, likely to claim you as her own, one way or another. I am concerned that as long as Azgeda remains present in the Coalition, you will not be safe."

"The route is through Heda, not through Nia. I have no doubt that the Ice Queen will have some ideas as to what my role should be, likely impaled on a stake as pauna food, but we will have to rely somewhat on the control that Heda has over the Coalition. We will have to convince them that power strengthens the bonds that have been built, not weakens."

"A tough task." The priest fidgeted a moment with the handle of the pan for a moment before speaking. "Amin, I am sorry for speaking to you as I did yesterday. It was disrespectful and above my station."

"Nothing is above your station, _kepa_." She snapped the book closed and regarded him openly. "You have been tasked with guiding a wilful, foolish girl who does not always keep her best interests in mind."

"And does that wilful, foolish girl have news from the mountain?" He fought a smile.

"She was just about to check." With a grin of her own, she rested the tips of her fingers on the faintly iridescent raven tattoos just below each of her collarbones. With the moon now almost full, the normal pale white lines shimmered in sunlight, and illuminated under the stars, all the result of the mysterious properties of the _natshana_ ink from which they were made. The twin ravens wavered briefly on her flesh, before the caws of their physical forms echoed loudly through the trees.

The entire morning and most of the afternoon passed in frustrating quiet. Both knew that each minute that passed afforded the mountain a chance to rethink, re-arm, and retaliate against the army at its doorstep. The illusion of any surprise had long since departed, leaving only faith in the various chess pieces executing their moves as planned. A couple of hours after a brief lunch break Katja blinked, returning to herself with an expression of barely suppressed excitement.

"The fog has been disabled."

"You're certain?"

"I saw the signal flare myself. The Fallen boy succeeded. Heda readies the army to march to the doors and the two who will destroy the power supply have just left camp for the dam."

"It is further than I thought they would get," Lewan admitted.

"We've underestimated the skills of the Fallen before, with disastrous results. Perhaps we should not be so quick to dismiss them," she rose as she was admonishing him, brushing the dust from her sides of her boots and tucking his book on the Stations of Earth back into his pack. "I'd like to break camp and head for the dam as soon as possible. I think we may be of some help there. The main doors of the mountain hold too much risk with the Commander's armies massed in that small area, we are bound to be seen by someone undesirable."

"Agreed."

"The dark-haired girl and the smiling man may need a diversion in order to complete their work. They are now the lynch pin in this plan."

All of an hour later, they reached the great dam, the solid wall of concrete rising strong and steady from gully floor. The sheer size of it gave the two riders pause, and they sat a second watching the furious cascade of water from the carefully regulated ports in the massive barrier. The Skaikru saboteurs could be anywhere…

As they scanned the surrounding area, the glint of the setting sun off metal and glass to the right of the dam gave them a starting point. A steel door, thick, with a small round window the size of a dinner plate was set within the rocky slopes. The closer they got, the less doubt there was that this had been the entry point for the two Skaikru. The locking mechanism, an electronic panel just above the handle, was a charred black mess of wiring and scrap.

Turning the handle, Lewan opened the door with ease and stepped cautiously into the dim corridor beyond. The sound of distant running and muffled shouts provided an audible trail to follow through the small crisscrossing of hallways and rooms, leading them to the opening of a large high-ceiling room. The mountain men had been quick to respond. At their feet lay the lifeless body of the Clan scout that had been sent with the Skaikru, a single bullet hole marking the back of his skull. Further below them, between the hulking masses of the five power generators fed by the dam, a squad of gas-masked troops stalked towards Raven and Wick, too distracted by the task at hand and their own bickering to hear the soft squeak of rubber soles.

Without so much as a look, the blade was in Katja's hand, out, and lodged neatly in the back of the neck of the closest soldier. He dropped in a crumple behind one of the generators, the blinking red light of the Skaikru bomb illuminating the frozen look of shock on his face.

Lewan was down the stairs and behind the next with a speed surprising for a man his size. The mountain man had just started to wheel around at the noise when he felt two enormous forearms wrap around his head. With a knee to the gut and a quick snap, he too sunk to the floor, the eyes of the scowling priest gleaming in the poor lighting.

The other six had raised their weapons behind the stooped forms of the saboteurs. Katja palmed another blade and hopped the rail, landing softly on the topmost of a pile of crates in the corner of the room. Four dots, five generators. Only four red blips were visible, one on each of the cylinders except for the one furthest from her position. There was no way that Skaikru would have time to finish planting the last of the explosives before they were apprehended.

"Get your hands up! Hands up! Hands up!" One of the masked troopers yelled when Wick, alerted to their presence by rattle of the guns being brought to shoulder, spun around holding a heavy pipe wrench in one hand and a fistful of plastic cable ties in the other.

The dark-haired girl whirled as well, the last of the bombs slipping from her grasp to skitter across floor, stopping with a metallic ping against the supports of the fifth generator. No one breathed. It spun lazily a moment, wobbled, and finally lay still.

"Get your hands where I can see them, NOW!"

Both obliged, raising their hands to shoulder level while still clutching cable ties, the wrench, and in Raven's other hand, the detonator. It was a tense sort of standoff, with the Skaikru's finger still on the not-so-proverbial button that would blow the power supply to the mountain, and the well-armed troops holding the remainder of the cards thanks to full clips and greater numbers.

Katja caught Lewan's eye and nodded towards the fifth generator. The bomb that rested at its base had not had the detonator wired in before the interruption and unless the force of the blast from the others were enough to trigger it, it was unlikely to blow. He dipped his head in acknowledgment and slipped around the back of the other four machines, edging along the dark side of the last one and taking cover behind the plated surface of a storage locker.

Praying that the girl would be quick enough to take advantage of the distraction, she flicked the small throwing knife towards the far side of the room. It clattered deafeningly around amidst the pipes and drew the attention of everyone in the room. The squad leader motioned half of his remaining men to investigate and as they headed down between the generators Katja caught the move of Raven's hand with satisfaction.

The explosion was a roar of heat and sound similar to what she had experienced at the Fallen ship. Instantaneously the three men that had split off were incinerated. Their choked screams died quickly but seemed to propel all parties into action. The two Skaikru went diving off to their right, sliding against the smooth surface of the flooring in behind the remains of one of the great turbines, its spoked shape a twisted mass of blackened metal.

The troops opened fire, spraying the entire area around the last standing machine erratically. They were terrified, angry and - as Katja watched each shell casing bounce ominously against the ground - very, very stupid. She got one more knife away, burying it in the side of the wildest shooter, but could not dispatch the other two before their own carelessness detonated the last explosive. Almost in slow motion, amidst all of the chaos, the sound of shattered glass echoed milliseconds before a blinding flash.

The force of the explosion, out in the open and uncontrolled, propelled her backwards off the crates, slamming her against the wall. Next thing she knew she was flat on her back, ears ringing and spots dancing chaotically in her field of vision. She stumbled to her feet as soon as she was able, wincing as a jolt of pain sliced up her forearm, still tender and healing from her first encounter with the panther. Rounding the stack of now scattered crates the first movement she saw was from the only two living mountain men, writhing in agony in the open space in front of where the bomb had gone off. The third was quite clearly dead, a large fragment of metal protruding through his torso.

The air was heavy with particulate from the blast and she held the edge of her hood against both nose and mouth as she approached the fallen men. They were incoherent and badly injured. With a practiced slice, a quick blade across first one throat and then the other relieved their misery. By this time the hulking form of Lewan, covered in thick black dust, coughed his way out from the other side of the room, raising a hand to indicate that he wasn't seriously harmed.

The same could not be said for the Skaikru. Wick was out cold, but breathing solidly with only a gash across his forehead. The bulky structures that had anchored the generators to the ground had provided decent shelter from the explosion but in so doing, had loosened to the point that a large metal leg had crumpled to fall on top of Raven. It lay diagonally across her prone body, the ragged edge of a support bar, jutting perpendicular to the leg itself, had pierced the flesh of the girl's left shoulder. Blood oozed steadily out from the wound.

Checking Wick's pulse first and finding it strong, Katja waved Lewan closer.

"Reinforcements will come, we need to get them out of here."

"We need to get _ourselves_ out of here Amin. We may not make it if we weigh down with these two."

"I will not leave them Lewan. They deserve at least that much. Help me get this metal out of the way. You will take him and I will take her. Once outside I can have a better look and if it's too late at that point, so be it, but I will not let them die here."

"Amin…"

" _Kepa, sen ai op._ There is no time for this."

He gritted his teeth. Though the urge to disagree further was strong, her word was his law and he stooped dutifully over the Skaikru girl, grasping the large piece of steel. He knew he could only push so far before that hint of iron crept into her tone, brooking no argument.

"Slowly now Lewan and steady as you can. I will try to ease it out of her shoulder." She tried to guide the smaller rod of metal out from Raven as gently as she could, conscious of the laboured huffing of the priest who was doing his best to manage the heavy piece of debris.

The girl whimpered loudly and squirmed, causing a fresh stream of blood to pour from the wound. Hands full with the bar, the only thing Katja could do was swing a leg across Raven's torso, essentially sitting on the girl's chest to keep her from moving. It seemed to have the desired effect as the wounded girl stilled, returning to an uneasy state of unconsciousness.

A few more seconds and the bar was out, the uneven end ripping at the edges of the wound as it was pulled free. Raven's shoulder was now bleeding in earnest as Katja reached into one of the small leather pouches along her belt, withdrawing a moss-like plant and jamming it forcibly into the puncture.

"Shhhh, shh, I'm sorry, it will help, I promise," she grimaced as Raven cried out in pain. Reaching out, she smoothed sweat-plastered strands of dark hair from the injured girl's face, applying firm pressure with the other against the wound packing to help it stem the blood. It only took a minute or two for the plant to do its job as a dressing, clotting temporarily within the wound for long enough, hopefully, for them to get outside.

The priest helped her roll Raven onto her side and lifted her up to rest across Katja's shoulders. She looped one arm behind the girl's legs and the other around her arms. Her own injury screamed in protest and she could only thank the Gods that the girl was slight of frame. Lewan meanwhile hoisted Wick over his shoulder as though a grown man were no more than a hiking pack and followed his charge up the stairs, steadying her as she struggled beneath the weight of the Skaikru girl.

Just as they broke the plane of the door and breathed the freshness of the cool night air, the sounds of backup troops could be heard from the room far behind them. They hurried out of the line of sight within the nearest grouping of trees and eased their burdens to the ground.

Lewan could see that Katja was breathing heavily. She was not much bigger than the girl she had just hauled to safety, and she was winded. He had just opened his mouth to speak when she lifted her head and the full force of the moonlight struck her features.

The hood she so carefully kept tight about her head had slipped during the escape leaving the jet black curls loose to fall freely about her shoulders. Their darkness was contrasted by the _natshana_ markings, brilliant in the light of the near full moon. The single line down her nose, two others starting near the inner corners of her eyes and tracing outwards in diagonal lines across her cheekbones, as well as the three dots down the length of her chin glowed a luminescent blue, giving her the appearance of a delicately painted idol.

Even still, these were not the most remarkable of her features. Adrenaline has quickened both pulse and the power within her, fueling the hypnotic emerald swirl that leapt like fel fire within the irises of her eyes. It was breathtaking; otherworldly. And here, out in the wild spaces so far from home, the rawness of it caught him off-guard.

She looked so much like her mother.

"Lewan?"

He shock his head softly and blinked at her, shoving long buried memories back into the library of his personal history where they belonged. She was staring at him questioningly, head canted slightly to the side as she pulled off the long leather gauntlets that covered her from fingertip to elbow.

Hurriedly he turned his attention to the man beside him, assessing the head wound quickly and checking as best he could for other injuries. As far as he could tell, the man was most likely only concussed. The cut was not deep, nor dangerous, but would require stitching to properly heal.

Katja meanwhile had torn at the collar of Raven's shirt, exposing her bare shoulder and the large circular hole it now bore. She rested a hand gently against the girl's forehead, the other against the wound and closed her eyes, lowering her head in concentration. She pushed her own thoughts of calming, soothing and recovery against the flood that rushed at her from the stricken girl. Fear, self-pity, anger, shame...when the natural barriers that people built around their feelings came down in sleep or unconsciousness, they became as easy to read as the direction of the wind. It could be overwhelming. The depth and intensity of emotion had, on multiple occasions in her younger years, threatened to drown her and it had taken Lewan physically breaking contact to pull her from the vortex.

Now though, as the familiar energy coursed into her hands, the warmth was measured, controlled, and focussed. First came the relief of pain, flooding a suppressant into the girl's system to mitigate both the next thing she would have to do, and to hold her until her companions could find them. Opening her eyes, she carefully retrieved the plant material from the puncture, pausing as the girl tensed, frowning against her palm. The wound area lost some of its gathering redness,but she stopped well short of closing it. Her goal was not to cure the girl but to stabilize her. There was no benefit to alerting the Commander to their presence at this particular point in time.

With a slow exhalation, she lifted both hands from Raven's skin and rose into a crouch. She could feel Lewan's scowl upon her and smiled. Constantly worried that one.

"I am fine, _kepa_. I did very little." Lifting her gaze, she saw him peering intently at her, the glow of the _natshana_ clearly revealing the milky film covering her eyes, thin and barely formed. "Hopefully just enough to keep them well and not raise too much suspicion."

Lewan arched a bushy brow and glanced at the gaping hole, miraculously not bleeding despite a large amount of tissue damage. Anyone looking at that wound and not being surprised that the girl was either dead or dangerously close to it, was a fool.

"Perhaps a bit more then," she chuckled and shrugged softly, rinsing her hands with some water from a canteen and pulling her gloves back on. "It was necessary."

The priest snorted and rooted around Wick's belt, having earlier seen the flare gun that the pair was to use to signal their safe exit from the belly of the dam. He raised the pistol and pulled the trigger, sending the crackling red burst of light into the sky overhead. Carefully he positioned the gun in Wick's grasp, wrapping his fingers around the grip and tucking his index finger into the loop of the trigger.

With that, the two Wastelanders stood and melted silently into the forest, heading for the small clearing where they had left their horses and supplies. The battle was far from over, but their part was done. All they could hope was that Heda and the Skaikru leader were able to continue moving forward.

* * *

_**Natshana**_ \- Moon

_**Sen ai op** _ _\- Listen_


	12. Muntin

By the time the two riders reached a vantage point overlooking the main door of the Mountain compound, they were in time only to see the retreating backs of the Clan army as they made their way back into the forest. The door to the compound was closed, Heda was nowhere to be seen, and the Skaikru leader stood unmoving, staring at the thick metal of the entrance. The small contingent of Skaikru milled about angrily, calling for the death of the "grounders" and urging Clarke pursue the Commander.

Katja glanced in surprise over at Lewan, who was frowning so deeply that his eyes were barely visible beneath his brows. She immediately sent out a raven after the Commander and turned her attention to Clarke. The look on her face made it very plain what had happened here. Shock, betrayal and a growing rage built in the girl's blue eyes with every passing second.

Images from the bird confirmed her assumption. Walking with the Clansfolk were dozens of injured, bandaged and poorly clothed wretches that could only be the people rescued from their prison in the mountain. They were pale, covered in sores and incisions, but they were safe now with their own people. The Skaikru victims knew no such relief. Heda had made a deal with the Mountain Men.

She recalled the raven and leaned her back against a tree, trying to process the unexpected turn of events. Clarke was important. She knew this, she felt it, and yet the Commander had abandoned her like an unwanted puppy at the doorstep of their shared enemy.

"You cannot be surprised, Amin." Lewan sighed and put a hand on her shoulder. "Heda's duty is to her people first over all else. Skaikru are not of the Clans. Many would have died assaulting the mountain. Heda has saved the lives of more than just those trapped inside, and in so doing, secured the best possible result for her people."

"Skaikru risked so much…"

"What did they risk? The lives of three people executing the plan? Heda risked hundreds. It was a difficult decision I'm certain, but a wise one. The correct one."

Katja looked back at Clarke, who was surrounded by a small group of Skaikru. Lewan was, of course, right. She knew all too well the crushing weight of duty and expectation but mercifully in her experience had never had to apply to a situation such as this. Ties between the Coalition and Skaikru were surely severed. She couldn't decide whether the development worked in her favour or against it.

"...flare from the dam!"

She caught the end of the discussion below them, aimed at retrieving the dark-haired girl and her companion. Clarke stood motionless still, either ignoring the fervent chatter around her, or so lost in her own thoughts that it didn't even register. One of the larger boys grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently, yelling that Raven and Wick were alive and needed their help.

"Raven...Wick…" Katja tested the names quietly, filing them for future use.

The jolt seemed to do the trick, and the blonde snapped back to her senses, organizing her rag tag bunch of adolescents into a unit. She was clearly uncomfortable splitting the group, what with the Mountain looming and the now uncertain relationship with the Clans, whose Army was still near enough to cause trouble if Heda so chose. As a group, they made their way through the woods towards where the two successful saboteurs lay unconscious a safe distance from the dam.

The Wastelanders retreated as well, plotting a course that ran parallel to Heda's troops. The break from Skaikru actually served to simplify the diplomatic snarl they had found themselves and may, in fact, be just the opportunity they needed to re-introduce themselves into the structure of the Coalition.

Raven moaned softly as a palm was pressed gently against her forehead. Everything hurt. From her scalp to her toes, the dull ache was severe, but bearable. A numbing sensation slowed everything her brain tried to tell her body to do. She couldn't move her feet, they felt heavy and sluggish, and even the act of opening her eyes took an extraordinary amount of effort.

A blurry dark blob stood in front of her, haloed by the multiple flashlight beams that shone directly into her face. Why was it touching her? What did it want? Was it talking to her? Panic rose in Raven's chest as her mind quickly ran through the list of possibilities: the Commander; a random grounder; a mountain man; a radiation ravaged animal; a monster….

"Raven…?"

The voice came to her through a thick fog, but its low, calming tone was familiar. Clarke. The blob was Clarke. She concentrated on trying to open her mouth to respond but struggled to even part her lips. What was wrong with her? Why couldn't she move?

"Hey there...it's okay, don't move, you're safe." Clarke had picked up on the tiny movement the girl had managed to make and kneeled beside her injured friend. Raven looked awful. She was pale, filthy, totally disoriented and suffering from at least one major injury that Clarke could see on initial examination. "I need to look at your shoulder, okay? It might hurt a little."

"W-..." Raven managed a small sound before her tongue refused to move further.

"It'll be okay, I promise."

"Wick…" The word slurred out as though Raven was drunk, barely distinct enough to make out what she was saying.

"Wick?" Clarke glanced quickly over at where he was being ministered to a couple feet away. "Wick will be fine Raven, they're helping him now. Concussion, cuts and bruises. We all know how hard-headed you engineers are, right? Nothing to worry about there at all."

The conversation was getting easier to follow with each word out of Clarke's mouth. She wished she could focus long enough to come up with some sort of witty comment in response but had to settle with a strained, disapproving snort.

"Munnntinnn?"

"Muntin? What's that? Something from the dam?" The blonde was examining the shoulder wound, marvelling at the fact that it didn't appear to be bleeding. Despite the freshness of the wound, the depth of the puncture and the torn tissue visible in the light of the flashlights, it was just there. An empty, gaping hole in Raven's shoulder. Odder still, Raven didn't seem bothered by it or in any amount of pain.

"Muuuuuntin." Raven gritted her teeth in frustration and tried a third time. "Mooountin."

"Oh," Clarke turned to look over her right shoulder at the hulking shape looming in the foreground. "Mountain. Yes, lots of..stuff, happened. We'll talk about it as soon as you're better. For now let's get you and Wick back to camp and rested."

"Mountain! Clarke…" Even in her semi-dopey state, Raven could not miss the obvious discomfort in her rescuer's voice and the deflection of her question on what should be the topic of the hour. Did they succeed? Had the mountain fallen? Where was that arrogant ass of a Commander and her hairy, flea-infested army?

"It didn't go quite as we planned Raven."

"What happened?" The fog was lifting rapidly now. With the return of her faculties however, came the return of the pain she should have been feeling all along. Her shoulder was on fire. Still, she wanted to know, needed to know, what had caused the plan to fail. She had almost died in that fucking dam and to hear it was for nothing was like an extra punch in the face. "Don't baby me Clarke."

"We, uh...lost the Grounders."

"Lost? Are they dead?"

"I wish!" A kid by the name of Gabriel spoke up, spitting on the ground beside his boot and thrusting a finger towards Clarke. "She trusted that savage of a Commander. They got everything they wanted. Everyone as well, and we got nothing. We got duped."

"Clarke?" Raven's eyes widened in alarm, hoping that she was misinterpreting what the boy was saying. "What did you mean by lost?"

"Gone…" Clarke hung her head, her voice barely above a whisper. It was too soon, too soon for her to be talking about this, especially to someone like Raven who was not one to mince her words.

"Gone. Gone? Gone?!" Raven's voice rose exponentially with each repetition.

"The Commander. She saved her own troops. Left with the army after the Wallace gave her back her people."

"God damnit Clarke, she made a deal with those bastards?! How could she? How DARE she betray us after everything we tried to do to help get both of our people out of that hellhole. You said she had honour, that she could be trusted enough to at least carry out the plan." She could feel her temper ramping up but could do little to control it. "Wick and I almost got blown to bits, not just for Jasper and Monty but for those...those animals!"

"I know you're mad, I'm mad too, but I need you to calm down Raven. That hole in your shoulder is ugly and you're going to make it worse."

"How can this get any worse Clarke? How, explain this to me. Our friends are still trapped, I'm missing a chunk of my body, and that bitch of a Commander is traipsing off through the forest, probably laughing at our stupidity. How does it get worse?"

"You could be dead." Clarke roughly guided her ranting friend back against the lightweight stretcher they had brought just in case the two engineers were unable to make it back under their own power. Wick was being loaded gently onto the other one and once both were hoisted, the party made their way away from the Mountain, planning to hike several hours away before setting up camp.

"Probably be better off." Raven was seething, even more so when she dipped her head to take stock of her injury. The wound burned like someone had shoved a hot poker through her shoulder. It matched her current mood.

"Don't say that. I'm happy you're not. I have no idea how the two of you managed to get out of there."

"Get out? Wait, what? You didn't haul us outside?"

"No," Clarke frowned in confusion, "when we got here you were both unconscious against those trees. You must've somehow gotten away before passing out."

"I-I don't know Clarke. The last thing I remember is one of the bombs going off, inside, the last bomb. It was too close to us, very loud and it blew a whole bunch of debris all over the place. Wick took a piece to the head, I saw that, and then everything went black. Next thing I know I can hear a voice, but I couldn't make out whose. A girl for sure. Thought it must've been you since your aggravating face was the first thing I saw." She couldn't help take a small shot at her friend, who was suddenly distracted scanning the woods around them.

"We just got here Raven. And we definitely didn't go anywhere near the dam. Could Wick have gotten you both out?"

"Maybe? Maybe I was just too out of it to realize it was him?"

"Maybe. But Wick isn't a doctor. And that shoulder definitely has had some attention. It's not adding up. How do you feel?" Clarke's eyes were now on the puncture wound. "Like how much does that hurt?"

"It's burning like a sonnuva bitch. Honestly not as bad as it looks though. And it's not bleeding, which is weird. That's weird right?"

"Yeah Raven, that's pretty weird. You should be gushing blood, and in a great deal of pain, not laying there talking to me. You could barely get a word out when we first got here, but it wasn't incoherence, it was more like...almost like-"

"I was drugged." Raven cut to the point of the blonde's musings, their eyes meeting as the truth of what must have happened hit them both. "That's exactly what it felt like."

"Someone got you out of that dam."


	13. Prisoner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander struggles with her decision at the Mountain. Katja and Heda finally meet face-to-face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would love to know what you guys think...you're quiet as mice!

In the days that followed, Lexa did what was expected of her. She attended the celebratory feast and the three days of games. She cheered on the combatants and gifted the victor. She visited the recovering prisoners of the Mountain and praised their bravery. But when the fires faded and the songs ended, she had no distraction from the doubts that plagued her, and no reason to hide their existence.

Most of her people saw her as a hero. As the Commander that saved her people from the jaws of the Mountain without significant loss of life while, and this was perhaps the best part, cunningly ridding them of the burden of the Skaikru. There were others of course, namely Azgeda, who pounced upon her withdrawal from what was sure to have been a bloody battle and used it as a sign of her weakness and cowardice.

She heard both sides. Understood both sides. The arguments echoed back and forth inside of her, an internal battle between rational and emotional that refused to abate no matter what she did. All of her years of training, all of her decisiveness and command, and yet a choice that she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was the correct one for her people was so conflicting that it kept her from enjoying what, by most accounts, was a victory.

Every morning she rose with the sun, heading for the training grounds with no purpose other than to mentally paint the faces of her uncertainty on the dummies and pummel them into submission. Exhaustion was the only way she could make it through the afternoon sessions of arbitration, strategy, and argument. Still, every time she closed her eyes, the only thing she could see was the look of unbelieving shock on Klark's face as the Mountain door slid once again slowly closed. There had been no immediate anger, no raging accusations, just that look of hurt and abject disappointment that to Lexa was harder to deal with than any fury.

Klark. Wanheda. The Commander of Death.

The events that followed the withdrawal of the Clan armies were already well on their way to becoming legend. In some tellings the Skaiprisa stormed the stronghold singlehandedly, eviscerating all that stood in her path and eradicating the entire population with the single push of a button. In others, the Skaikru fought as one to gain entry into the compound and razed it to the ground, with Klark erasing whatever life remained with the same dark powers she had used on the Clansmen at the drop ship.

* * *

Lexa figured the truth lay somewhere in between the two most popular versions of the tale. When she heard what happened she had immediately sent her best scouts out to verify the details and to find Klark. They could only confirm that the Mountain sat open and devoid of life. They could not locate Klark, nor anyone who had seen her. The golden haired girl who had re-awoken the human beneath the Commander's mask had become a ghost and Klark's name -the name of a girl whose optimism, idealism, and idiotic faith in the inherent goodness of people had won over even Lexa...was now spoken with fear.

For the time being the topic of the Skaikru was largely put aside while the Clans welcomed back their missing members and healed the raw wounds, both physical and emotional, left by the Mountains years of terror. Inevitably though, in the afternoon sessions once all of the petty disagreements had been settled and grievances aired, the Council would shift its attention to the invaders.

Most of the clans pushed for the annihilation of the Sky People, seeing their presence here as a sign of impending disaster and death. A few were more moderate, and interested in what they could possibly take or learn from a people that clearly had different reserves of knowledge than any of the present clans. All were now concerned about what reprisals any actions they took would bring from Wanheda. A mixture of hatred and curiosity boiled beneath the surface of every meeting and every decision. It was as aggravating as it was tiring.

Even the nights, which for Lexa had always been her favourite time, now gave her no peace. Without fail the last candle would extinguish, and yet still for hours she would lay there awake, staring at nothing until the first pink of sunrise broke and she arose to repeat the routine once more. She prayed fervently for her old self to return and for the Flame of the Commander to again burn brightly within her.

During the afternoon of the fourth day, fresh from the thrilling conclusion of a two hour discussion on farming tariffs, The Commander excused herself from the Council tent and set off towards the bank of the small creek by which they camped, Gustus following at a respectful distance. It felt like the only thing that united these people was greed. Perhaps that and the complete and utter inability to see the bigger picture.

Water trickled lazily over the smooth surfaced stones that lay along the stream bed. It was very late in autumn, and the rains had been light, making for the quietly winding path through the forests of the Trikru. Come spring, with the melted runoff from the winter's snow, these small trickles could become fierce torrents of frigid water, dislodging rock and uprooting trees that lay along their route.

To Lexa, it felt like the story of her Command. Periods of deceptive, even calming peace punctuated by seasons of furious, uncontrolled activity. How long those peaceful spots lasted were not so regular as the seasons though what marked the shifts were often more obvious. She hoped, now that her people were safe from the Mountain, that now would be a quiet time, where farming tariffs were the most excitement she had to deal with. The more bored she was, the more successful the Coalition.

No matter how much she wanted to believe that to be true, there was a small voice in the back of her mind that knew better. Things were still unsettled. Lexa herself was still unsettled and in her heart of hearts she knew that something huge loomed on the horizon.

She had not expected to be proven right so soon.

Mikael, one of the young scouts from a contingent of Yujledakru that had shown exceptional promise, begged passage by Gustus and cleared his throat nervously behind the Commander.

"What." Not even five minutes could these fussy, pedantic Bandrona give her. She wondered what it was this time...fishing rights? Ownership of the sun?

"Moba, Heda, for the intrusion."

"Spit it out." At the sound of his voice she turned, curious since it was not an administrator or a clerk that stalked her in her free time.

"Heda, we have found something….someone rather."

"Klark kom Skaikru?" Lexa's heart lept into her chest at the thought that her Skaikru counterpart had been found. There was so much she wanted to say, to try to explain.

"No Heda, Klark kom Skaikru remains at large. We don't know who this is. A very large man and a girl, caught just north of here by the ruins. They had horses and supplies enough for weeks."

"And where are they now?"

"They are being brought in as we speak Heda. My Yujledakru scouts will deliver them to the Command Tent within the hour. I came ahead to give notice."

"Very well. Go and tell your kru that I await their arrival."

"Sha Heda!" With a salute, the scout was off again, bounding effortlessly through the underbrush back towards the North.

"Never a dull moment." Lexa shot a quick look at Gustus, who chewed thoughtfully at the bottom edge of his moustache. All she received back in return was an indecipherable mumble of agreement.

Katja kept her head down as she was led, gloved hands bound behind her, through the main camp. The force was several hundred at best, but the bustle of the place after so many days in relative quiet - the noise and laughter and stamp of the horses was almost overwhelming. She could see Lewan taking in as much of the surroundings as he could, not out of curiosity but out of self-interest. She could almost hear him mapping out possible exit strategies in his head. The Clansfolk were staring openly. Lewan wasn't a particularly inconspicuous figure with his broad frame and huge beard that had grown wildly during his time on the road. And she, however bloodstained and dirt caked, was still dressed in the traditional robes of her order, stuck out like a sore thumb amidst the furs and forest colours of the Commander's troops. She cursed at having had to destroy the set furs from Naomi. They, at least, would've allowed her to blend in a little longer.

After a few minutes of walking, she was jerked to a halt by a hand grabbing the rope at her wrists. Before them was a canvas structure guarded by two of the largest men she had ever seen. Bordering the doorway were twin strips of red cloth, leaving little doubt as to the occupant of the tent. Low voices could be heard within but the exact number was uncertain. Her captors nodded curtly to the guards, who parted the entryway and allowed them access to the room beyond.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting, but it became quickly apparent that she had underestimated the size of the shelter. A huge antler-framed throne sat at the far side of the room, empty, and the number of people gathered counted in the dozens. She felt her jaw tighten unconsciously when to her left she saw the Azgeda leader, Nia, and her retinue of white painted warriors. Mercifully none of them were from the arrogant crew they encountered in the trading post. Queen Nia must have decided to take in the spectacle in person, the haughty gaze and distinctive circlet across her brow identifying her clearly. The woman looked every bit as cold and calculating as her reputation suggested and she appeared more than intrigued by the new guests. Katja dipped her head further as the woman's icy stare bore into her. If the Queen suspected anything of her true identity, she doubted she would ever make it out of the camp alive. From what Naomi had told them, the Queen and Commander weren't exactly on the friendliest of terms, but that meant nothing with regards to her safety.

The curtains at the side of the throne shifted and the room fell silent. Two guards appeared first, every bit as big as the hulking monsters outside. A slight figure followed, pausing to let the guards get into position before ascending the low dais of her makeshift throne room and settling into the seat with an air approaching boredom. Katja peered up at the Commander from beneath her lashes, the edge of her hood offering some protection from the scrutiny of the others.

Everything about the Commander was dark, dark and lithe, from the stiff knee high boots, and the long, elaborately buckled overcoat, to the handle of the dagger she was idly balancing on the arm of the throne. Katja's next breath caught sharply in her throat as her gaze met the Commander's face. The band of black war paint around the woman's eyes was instantly familiar, as was the intense moss-green stare that belied her supposed disinterest. The deer from her dream, this time bounded by the flesh and bone of a human form. While the entity she had met lacked definition and true substance, the figure in front of her now was not as she had expected. The Commander was no battle-worn, grizzled veteran...she was stunning.

The mesmerizing green eyes, no less impactful in reality, sat upon delicate high cheekbones that met with the smooth curve of the woman's graceful jawline. A mass of rich brown curls were pulled back from her face in a series of intricate braids while the majority of her hair fell loose to drape over the single pauldron on her shoulder and mingle with the red sash that marked her identity. Not that there was any need. Her confident bearing and imposing presence, despite her slender frame, marked her more clearly than any strip of cloth ever could. Katja found herself staring openly, unable to pull herself from the Commander's face.

Her stomach clenched involuntarily as a brow quirked upwards in question and she chewed self-conscientiously at the inside of her lip. She had never felt anything quite like the potency of spirit contained in the woman before her. It was all-consuming, irresistible, and for just a moment she was distracted from her dire situation. Blinking rapidly she broke the connection and remembered to breathe, straightening her shoulders and balling her fists behind her back.

"And what is this that you've brought me." Heda narrowed her eyes slightly, having caught the small twitch in Katja's posture. Her gaze shifted between the massive man and the petite girl with feigned disinterest. She could feel the girl's eyes on her from beneath the grey hood that her Trikru captors had, for some reason, seen fit to leave on. Lexa couldn't place it, but there was something about the prisoner that she felt as familiar. There was a pull towards her deep in the pit of her abdomen; a tremor of excitement that had no place in the gravity of the moment.

"A gift, Heda." The man behind Katja bowed respectfully and roughly shoved his prize towards the Commander. "We found them spying off the Northern edge of the camp. Could be Sky People. They don't seem to talk and judging by the little one's clothes, they aren't from around here."

"Quite the assumption," the Commander leaned forward from her seat and rested her elbows on her knees. "But I'll entertain it. Do I get to see my gift or is it to remain wrapped and hidden?"

"Of course Heda, we apologize," the other man bowed as well and clenched a fist in embarrassment. "We just found it easier to deal with her this way."

"Easier to..."

"Moba, Heda you will see." He placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and pushed downwards. "Kneel!"

Katja refused, feeling Lewan stiffen beside her. She prayed he would hold his tongue and simply let things happen as they would. Now was not the time for a tirade about tradition and respect.

"I said KNEEL!" The man was faster than he appeared. Before she had time to counter, his huge booted foot struck the backs of both her knees as his palm shoved harder against her back, sending her flying. Without her hands to break her fall, her knees struck the ground hard and her forward momentum carried her further. She managed to turn her head at the last minute but the jolt of her cheek hitting the floor was still jarring.

Lewan roared in outrage and struck out, kicking one of the men in the gut and spinning to connect with a vicious head butt into the temple of the other. Just as he sprang toward his prostrate charge, he was caught by four of the Commander's personal guard, who despite their stature still had difficulty containing him. Finally one managed to deliver a blow to the back of the priest's head with the pommel of his sword, and the kepa slumped heavily into unconsciousness. With a flick of her wrist, Lexa commanded that he be removed and so he was dragged unceremoniously from the tent by a group of Trikru warriors while the Commander's guards returned to their places.

Katja felt a hand grasp the back of her head, wincing in discomfort as it grabbed both hood and hair to haul her back into a kneeling position in front of the Commander. She purposely kept her head down, concentrating as hard as she could at masking herself for what she knew would happen next.

"Your stubborn mule of a gift Heda." The man pulled the hood back from her face and let it puddle around her shoulders. "I'm sure you'll have no difficulty getting whatever information you require from her."

He wrenched her head backwards, and placed a small blade against her neck, forcing her to look up at the throne. As the edge rested against her skin and the Commander stood, her focus slipped and her eyes, masquerading as a plain, dull green, flickered briefly until she regained control. It was too late. Heda had seen it, looking momentarily startled before the impassive face of the Commander slid back into place. As had Nia, who made no move, but whose mouth hung strangely agape. As the chuckles from her fall died off quickly, the Ice Queen spoke quietly to two of her kru, who hastily exited the gathering.

"That, Heda, is what we meant." The man jutted his jaw in the direction of Katja's face. "Bloody unnerving. Not natural. Thought you'd want to have a look."

"Indeed." The Commander's voice grew soft and pensive as she strode to close the last few steps between herself and the girl. "You have done well. My thanks."

Katja felt the colour rise in her cheeks as the Commander cupped her chin in a hand and turned her head firmly to either side. The woman's face was inches from her own as Lexa bent to examine her more closely. Katja's mouth went dry but she didn't dare do much more than swallow against the dagger close at her throat. Thankfully the Commander released her with a nod to her guards.

"Chain her. Away from her bodyguard. I want a detail posted both outside and in with her at all times. No visitors, no privileges. Is that clear?"

"Sha, Heda!" Two of the guards thumped a hand to their chest in salute and grabbed Katja's arms. She didn't bother resisting as she was pulled from the tent.

The Commander watched her go, mind whirling a million miles a minute. Once the girl was gone, she strode quickly over to the curtains, turning to one of the guards there and pinning him with a glare.

"Bring me Titus. Now."


	14. 'Kovakeryon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Titus and the Commander have a 'talk' with their new prisoner and make a startling discovery. More of Katja's backstory gets filled in.

When she entered the holding cell, Titus was pacing around the bound prisoner as though he were trying to decide how best to draw and quarter her. His fists were balled tightly at his side and his face, never exactly cheerful, looked particularly angry. She had met with him several hours previous, and he had asked for time to research before questioning the girl. She wondered, with a quiet sigh, how long he had actually spent in research as opposed to interrogation.

Lexa squinted in the dim light. The slight figure, still in the filthy clothes she was captured in, was suspended by her shackled wrists from a great hook in the ceiling. The girl's head was bowed, the dark crown of curls hanging limply now in damp curtains around her face. The slow, shallow rise and fall of her chest suggested that Titus had already been here for some time.

" _Kepa_ you were to meet me here."

" _Moba_ , Heda." Titus dipped his bald head in apology, though he didn't sound the least bit regretful. "I was afraid we would miss important information if we waited longer."

"Mmmm…" Lexa chose to ignore his impertinence for the time being. "And what have you found out with all of this extra time."

"It will not speak." Titus jabbed a finger into Katja's ribs, eliciting nothing more than a small exhalation of breath.

"It?" Lexa smirked slightly and stepped closer to the bench that held the variety of weapons that had been stripped off the prisoner before she had been chained. Smoothing her fingers over the exceptional craftsmanship of the twin sheathes, she hummed quietly in appreciation. "Does 'it' even know how?"

"I intend to find out."

"Continue."

"Name. Now." The lanky man stopped directly in front of Katja, jerking her head up by her hair. Her eyes remained closed and her mouth silent. Titus growled, and still holding a fistful of black, backhanded her hard across her cheek. The force of the blow snapped her head to the side, the barest of winces crossing her features. "Answer the question!"

Lexa turned back to the interrogation, leaning calmly against the edge of the table. If there was anything to be discovered then Titus would uncover it. He had ways of making even the most stubborn of prisoners talk. She watched as he again demanded her name, the girl again refused, and the _Kepa_ responded with a closed fist into the stranger's abdomen.

"Who sent you?" Thump.

And so it went for two hours, Titus firing questions and no longer even waiting for the non-answer before raining blows on his mute captive. Katja was no longer able to keep some of her pressure off her aching shoulders, instead hanging with the full weight of her body from sockets that threatened to pop at any moment. Her captor showed no signs of tiring and the Commander was like a silent shadow along the wall, simply watching.

She kept her eyes closed at all costs, knowing that they would betray her in an instant. It took a great deal of focus to maintain their mask, focus that was currently being spent conserving whatever tiny bit of energy she could.

"Perhaps you were right Heda, I don't think it knows how…" A wry grin split Titus' features. He was nowhere near finished.

"Perhaps." Lexa slid from the table edge and crouched in front of Katja, looking up at the girl from about knee height. "Though perhaps we haven't given the proper motivation. Where is her bodyguard?"

"Two cells over, Heda."

"Please send Ogden to make sure he is...comfortable?"

"Sha, Heda." TItus slid the window panel on the door open and spoke briefly with one of the guards outside. Booted feet made their way down a hallway, and the sound of a key sliding in a rusted lock echoed in the silence.

Lexa kept her eyes firmly on the girl in front of her, noting a barely perceptible quickening of her breath. She was concerned for her companion, but remained silent. The prisoner's stamina was impressive for such a small figure. From the sidelines she had directed Titus to be firm, but not vicious. Information would not be drawn from a corpse.

Down the hall, low voices could be heard through the opening that Titus had conveniently left open. The _Fleimkepa_ stalked back and forwards before his captive, clasping his hands behind his back. A dull thud followed by a winded grunt echoed its way the short distance down the hallway.

"Here is how this works," TItus' voice was as casual as though he were discussing the weather, "you talk, he lives. You don't, he doesn't. Cle-"

He had been about to say 'clear?', however as his pacing brought him directly in front of her, Katja swiftly swung her legs upwards, locking her knees around his neck and head. With what strength she had left she increased the pressure, ignoring the clawing hands of the _Kepa_ and the small choking gasps of his breath. He managed to get a couple of solid blows in against her ribs but was unable to break her grip, eyes bulging slightly as he struggled remove the pressure from his windpipe.

"Let him go." Lexa, in no apparent hurry to rescue her advisor, stepped out of the shadows and into the light beside Katja. Her tone and expression were impassive. When Katja still did not release him and he began to sink towards the floor, the Commander motioned to the two inner guards, who wrenched the man's head free from the vice.

TItus, sputtering and furious, caught his breath quickly and lunged at the girl, connecting with a hard punch to her jaw that caught her lip and split it wide. Katja's vision blurred and her chin sunk to rest in against her chest.

Drip. Drip.

The sound of her blood falling drop by drop from her mouth to hit the cold stone of the floor was drowned out by the continued cursing of the enraged man in front of her. His face was redder in his anger than it had been when she had been choking him. He swung wildly with another backhand, landing it intentionally in the same area as the punch. Katja couldn't help but grimace, losing the fight against unconsciousness and hanging full from the restraints.

As he raised his open hand to continue, he felt strong fingers wrap around his wrist and pull his arm down. Eager to keep his tirade going, Titus turned to confront whoever dared to interfere, only to gaze into the focussed glare of the Commander.

"Heda, surely you…" He trailed off when he realized that the Commander wasn't even looking at him, but was instead staring at the back of his hand. Following her eyes, he saw that the knuckle area was smeared not with the reddish tinge of blood, but a viscous black liquid.

With his free hand he reached out and lifted Katja's face to the light. A trickle of black flowed slowly from the split on her lip, down over the curve of her chin and dripped from the end into a tiny puddle of dark liquid below. He swiped at the cut with his thumb and brought it to his lips, tasting the familiar metallic tang of blood.

"Impossible."

Lexa couldn't take her eyes off the constant slow drip of the black blood, it was almost hypnotic. She dropped Titus' other hand and swallowed hard. He was right. That this random girl the scout had found would turn out to be a _natblida_ , a nightblood, should have been impossible. Nightbloods were sent at a young age to Polis for training and eventual participation in the Conclave, should a new Commander be needed. As potential Commanders, and thus also potential challengers to the current Commander, _natblida_ were closely guarded and catalogued. She did not know of a case of any escaping the notice of the Clans and Council, and yet here was a girl, roughly her own age, that had clearly defied the mandate for some time.

"Your counsel _Fleimkepa?_ " Lexa finally found her voice. "Is there a protocol for a situation such as this?"

"I am unaware of this ever happening before now, Heda."

"And given that?"

"I see only one course. She has not had the training and years of conditioning of the others, she was caught spying on your army near enemy territory just after a major offensive, and you told me of the strangeness of her eyes. Her manner of dress and ink markings are not familiar to me; it is unlikely she is from the Clans. She is dangerous. I advise she be put to death immediately.

"So quickly?"

"It is the safest way, Heda. If she were to cause disruption right now, with the Coalition so tenuously held, it could lead to chaos. You must show strength."

"And how would this one girl cause such chaos? There is something you are not telling me."

"Heda, I would never…" But he swallowed awkwardly, a nervous tic that Lexa had long since learned to read.

"Never unless you thought that it was genuinely in my best interests. It would not be the first time, _Kepa_. Tell me what you know."

He slumped slightly. To refuse at this point would be to refuse the Commander outright. He may be powerful but not even his position would spare him consequence. Titus cleared his throat and ran a hand over the smoothness of his shaven head.

"When you called for me and told me of the prisoner, I recalled reading somewhere in the texts of a people with eyes of fire. It took me many minutes to remember where I had seen it and to find the references...in a history of the clans that I have always seen as part fanciful and part fact. The story of this people was widely regarded, except among the holders of the most ancient customs, as legend. Do you know of what I speak?"

'It sounds familiar," Lexa allowed, but she could not pull the passage from her memory. She had read every book in the Polis library, same as he, and it must have been a very obscure text indeed if she could not remember its content.

"As you know, hundreds of years ago the first Council of the Clans was formed. The first Commander, the first _Fleimkepa,"_ he bowed his head briefly in respect, "and the first _Bandrona_. They were not alone, however, on the council. There was another power, one of balance to the light of the flame."

"Where there is light, there is also shadow. The _'Kovakeryon_."

"Precisely," Titus nodded. "The Shadow Spirit _._ Advisors to the Commander; possessed of powers that most could not even fathom. In those days they were seen as wise men, healers, scholars, connected to the hidden parts of the world in ways that even the Commander was not. To every Heda there was a _'Kovakeryon_ , for every flame a shadow. It created order and equilibrium."

"But as the Clans began bickering, and the Commanders became more frequently challenged, they saw enemies everywhere." Lexa picked up the tale now, her voice low and measured. "The power of the _'Kovakeryon_ shifted from one of support to one perceived as a danger to the strength of the position of Commander. The last Azgeda Commander…"

"Nia's great-grandfather." Titus interjected.

"...he feared being overthrown by those he trusted most and wanted to consolidate power in the seat of the Commander. I believe he began painting the _'Kovakeryon_ as insidious practitioners of dark arts, people to be feared and shunned."

"Correct. The notion caught on slowly, but cemented itself firmly in the thinking of the Clans, who did not understand neither their function, nor that they were being used by the Azgeda Commander to solidify his rule. He killed the _'Kovakeryon_ that sat on his council, claiming that the man had conspired against him. As was, and still is to some extent, the thinking, in so doing he absorbed the warrior spirit of the dead man. In this case it suggested that he gained the powers that went with it."

"They became hunted…"

"Naturally. The Azgeda Commander used this "conspiracy" to impose new restrictions on the gifted children that were sent to Polis. He also actively sought out and killed every living person understood to special abilities that others did not. Every _'Kovakeryon_. In theory he absorbed their spirit, their essence. He was greatly feared. The time was referred to as The Purges, and in the texts is written as a time of glory; a time where the seat of Commander rose above the council to become all powerful."

"And this girl, you think she may be….?" Lexa let the question hang between them, turning to face the unconscious prisoner who hung still from the restraints.

"The _'Kovakeryon_ are a myth, Heda. And one not heard for several generations. And even if they were not, all were killed in The Purges."

"So goes the story. We both know that myths have a way of basing themselves in truth while twisting the details to suit the teller."

"There are certain things that align with what I could find in the library." He hesitated, not wanting to appear foolish. "The eyes, for one. The entire line of _'Kovakeryon_ were said to have astounding green eyes whose irises sparked and lept like flames, so unearthly, it was said, that to gaze into them fully was to lose your sense of self."

Lexa arched a brow.

"They were also _natblida_ , though not the same lineage as the Commander. Their gifts ranged from healing to foresight, it was different for each. Lastly they bore marks of _natshana_ ink, tattoos that showed completion of what were called trials...I know not what that refers to."

"Does she bear a mark?"

Titus closed the distance between himself and Katja in two easy steps and yanked at the neck of her tunic, baring one shoulder. Lexa stepped closer. An intricate pattern of loops and whorls curled upon the girl's fair skin. The lines were not black, like her own tattoos, but had a delicate, pearlescent appearance unlike anything she had ever seen. She traced one set of interlocking discs with the tip of her index finger, watching the design ripple softly as it shifted with the light. It was beautiful.

"Is it possible _Kepa_?"

"It should not be. They were eradicated."

"And yet…"

"And yet I have no other explanation at this time. Whether it is true or not, the mere idea of her existence is a threat to you Commander."

"You would counsel me to do as the Azgeda did?"

"Perhaps his actions were not without merit."

"Or wholly motivated by greed."

"Regardless, think of the Coalition. Tensions are high, and any suggestion of weakness or opportunity will lead only to conflict. End this quietly, now before any rumours begin. She is dangerous to you."

"That may be. But I will talk to her first before I make any decision. There are things I must see and know for myself."

"Commander! Did we not just spend hours trying to do just that? The girl is mute. You waste your time. Put this behind you as quickly as possible and push on to Polis."

"Your opinion is noted _Kepa_."

"Heda!"

"Enough. I have allowed you to speak freely today. You have spoken, and I have listened. Do not push your position. I will speak to her alone, and it may be that I come to the same conclusion as you have, in which case you will get your wish."

He could do nothing but bite his tongue and glared at Katja's inert form. The girl was already causing trouble, why couldn't the Commander see that? TItus growled and stalked out of the room.

"Get her down." Lexa motioned for her two guards to remove her prisoner from the massive hook.

The larger man gripped Katja about the waist, lifting her slightly and dwarfing her petite frame with his hulking size. The other reached up and using the slack in the chain, lifted it from the curl of the hook. They lowered the captive none-too-gently to the ground, dropping her like dead weight onto the cold floor.

"The other one. The guard. Get him down as well, but be sure to chain him securely to the wall. He is not to be comfortable, just alive."

"Sha, Heda." Both guards ducked out of the cell to carry out her orders.

Crouching beside Katja's crumpled form, Lexa scrutinized her features, lax as they were in unconsciousness. The black blood had congealed on her lower lip, it's darkness a stark contrast to the ashen colour of the girl's skin. Could it be true? This slip of a girl? Where had she come from? What did she want? The Commander tried to will Katja's eyes open. She had so many questions, so many things that she needed to understand, but none greater than the one she voiced quietly under her breath as she brushed an errant strand of black hair off the girl's cheek.

"Who _are_ you?"

* * *

_**Moba** \- sorry_

_**Fleimkepa** \- Flame Keeper_

_**Bandrona** \- Ambassadors_


	15. You Know Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Heda has a go at he captive one-on-one, but finds the conversation difficult to manage as Katja pushes her luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hey everyone, hope you’re enjoying the grounder welcome party.  Apologies for being a little heavy on the historical exposition last chapter, it just seemed like a good time to work in some backstory.  What do you think? How does the flow feel?  Are the characters working for you guys?  I would love some feedback.

It was impossible to tell how much time had passed.  There was no window, no light, no sense of the passage of the hours.  Katja awoke with a headache that split her skull from front to back.  She was vaguely aware of contact with cold stone, and the fact that her shoulders no longer felt the pulling agony of suspension.  She was on the ground.

Rolling with a pained grunt onto her back, she licked her chapped, peeling lips and tasted blood.  The  _ Fleimkepa  _ had a heavy hand; everything ached from abuse and exhaustion.  It was all she could do to lay there and breathe, each inhalation stretching the tender, bruised flesh along her side and hitching the breath in her throat.  

After a few moments, she tested her wrists, pulling them apart only to find that they were still connected by the same thick rope.  She thought of Lewan, and listened carefully for any sounds that gave away his whereabouts or condition, but there was only silence.  Deep breaths now, ignoring the aching complaints of her ribs and concentrating on the rhythm, using it as a centering point to dull the pain.  There was no telling how much time she had until her interrogators returned and she needed that time to steel herself.

“ _ Monin hou.” _

The voice came from the shadows, quiet yet authoritative, just as it had been when last she had heard it.  Her first instinct was to scramble away, to put as much distance between herself and its owner as possible, but her pride would not allow itself to bow yet again to the Commander.  

Lexa stepped into the flickering light of the candle, hands resting calmly on her hips, and simply stood.  She had been watching for hours; sitting quietly upon the small table as she waited for her captive to regain consciousness.  Despite having had plenty of time to consider, she was unsure of what tack to take.  The prisoner had withstood hours of Titus, and now looked far too tired to even care what was done to her.   She could tell by the way that the girl had moved that the effects of the  _ Fleimkepa’s _ work were sorely felt, and yet the prisoner had stayed resolutely, aggravatingly, silent. Further beating was unlikely to be successful at doing much other than soothing Titus’ wounded ego. 

“Guards!” Lexa called out for the two men standing post outside the cell door.  They answered immediately. The girl was exhausted and in pain, but the tension that snapped into place when she had spoken - a straightening of shoulders and clench of jaw - suggested that there may still be some fight left.  Heda strongly preferred the captive at a disadvantage. “Hang her.”

Without a word they stooped to grasp her, one under each arm, and lifted her off the ground.  Despite her efforts to remain calm, the animal part of her brain refused to listen, panicking and causing her to squirming violently in the mens’ grips.  Her body expressed its lack of desire to be resuspended from that enormous hook through a frantic, instinctual, but ultimately futile fight against much larger opponents.  Swearing under their breath, they dodged her kicking feet and flailing elbows and quickly looped the rope through the opening of the hook, backing away with looks of barely concealed amusement.

“Now leave us.”  Lexa watched the brief struggle with a blank expression and waited a moment before directing the guards to return to their post outside the door.

“Sha, Heda.” A salute, and they were gone.

Katja, for her part, had stilled.  Her own weight once more pulling at her shoulders was excruciating.  Whatever welcome she had expected from the Commander, this was not it.  Had she made a mistake? Were all of the visions and dreams worthless? She thought not, and the moment she had seen the Commander’s face in that throne room all doubt had been erased, but how could she reconcile what she had seen and felt with the cruelty and aggression of this woman?

“We have a lot to talk about, you and I.” Lexa stepped back out in front of her, remaining a safe distance away. “Although I'm certain that the  _ Fleimkepa _ would love to continue exploring his own methods of conversation, perhaps you would be open to speaking only with me.”

The prisoner remained silent, head bowed.  The Commander stepped forward and crossed her arms, the picture of patience.

“Look at me.” Disobedience met with another step forward, and another, until Lexa stood well within the striking distance of the girl’s feet. The Commander pushed the toe of her own boot into the now mostly hardened puddle of black blood on the ground beneath the hook. “Look at me and tell me how it is possible that you are a  _ natblida _ .”

Katja watched the movement from between semi-closed eyelids, her downcast eyes following the brown leather of the boot as it scraped dried flakes of her own blood off the stones. Damnit.  It didn't much matter now what the Commander did and didn't believe.  The fact that she was a nightblood, existing outside the capital, the Conclave and hence outside the influence of the Commander, marked her.

“ _ Look _ at me.”

The urgency in the Commander’s voice raised goosebumps along her arms.  She lifted her gaze, masked, to meet Lexa’s.  

“A  _ natblida _ . Outside of Polis, outside of my knowledge. You can see why I might be concerned.”  Heda caught and held the other woman’s eyes, frowning slightly when they showed a rather common green. She caught herself thinking, and not for the first time, that her captive looked more like a street urchin than a threat to her command.  Had she not seen the evidence herself, she was unsure she would have believed it.   “Especially when that  _ natblida _ is found lurking just outside my army’s encampment.  What business did you have there?”

Katja swallowed but said nothing.

“Am I to believe it coincidence? Do you think me stupid?”

Still nothing.  Lexa considered calling for Titus.  Eventually the girl would break and she would have her answers.  Unfortunately the prisoner’s stubbornness combined with her  _ Kepa _ ’s tenacity would likely result in there not being much left of the prisoner afterwards.  Instead she changed her approach, tucking her arms behind her back, and lifting her chin in challenge.

“It was you in the forest.”

Katja maintained her composure, staring evenly at the Commander who stood facing her. The statement had an almost accusatory tone that she was unsure how to interpret. Heda pulled something out of one of her pockets, unfurling a neatly cut square of saffron coloured fabric.

“The shot was either fantastically good, or unluckily bad depending on who was your target.”  Lexa walked over to the table and took the long pleated sash that matched the smaller piece in her hand.  Heda knew full well that the arrow had not been intended for her, but hoped to goad its shooter into speaking.  “I’m inclined to believe the latter, but if you’d like to make an argument either way, I will hear it.”

The girl on the hook eyed the sash briefly and returned to the Commander, a hint of anger in the tight set of her lips.  Depending on who was the target??  Katja felt her pride swell dangerously and frowned.  That shot had been finer than anyone in the Clan armies could manage.  If she had wanted Heda dead, the woman would be.  She opened her mouth to say as much but no sound came out other than a dry, rasping cough.

Heda scooped some water from a small basin using a long-handled wooden ladle and approached, extending it towards the prisoner and tipping it against her lips.  Most missed, but the spoonful of water that made its way onto her parched tongue was one of the most delicious things Katja had ever tasted.  The second soothed the burning in her throat long enough for her to take a deep breath without pause.

“None have come so close to killing me as you.  The opportunity was excellent.  In the confusion of battle it would have been the simplest thing to vanish when the act was done.”  Lexa saw the park of anger in Katja’s eyes and stoked it further. “An inch to my right and you would have been a hero to some. What I would like to know, is to whom?”  The question was met, again, with stony silence, but the Commander continued on.  “Correct me if I have the story wrong, please.  This telling marks you as a traitor, for which I only have one course of action.  I do not relish putting anyone to the tree, but nor do I encourage brazen attempts on my life. Who wants me de--”

“I  **_saved_ ** your life!”  The words came out more as a squeak than an emphatic statement. Katja’s thirst was far from slaked and it made conversation difficult.  She flushed and cleared her throat.

“So it seems you  _ can _ speak.  We had wondered.  Most cannot hold their tongues as admirably.“  Lexa returned the spoon to the basin and once again stared at her captive, her face expressionless and unreadable.  “I suggest you use yours in your own defense.  Now.”

“I saved your life.” A whisper this time, controlled and steady. Katja’s nostrils flared indignantly at the order and her glare hardened into one of outraged disbelief. “Do not toy with me Heda.  You know full well that arrow was not meant for you.”

“Do I? And upon what do I base that, your word?”

“Your own skill, Heda.  That would have been as farfetched a miss as it would have been a hit, and the opportunity was certainly there for another attempt.”

This time it was the Commander who remained silent, appraising.  The voice provided another dimension to the captive’s character.  It was low, lower than Lexa would have expected, though she couldn’t be certain it wasn’t simply due to dehydration and disuse.  The accent was very unusual, rolling and purring its way through the syllables unlike any of the Clan dialects that the Commander was familiar with.  It gave a grace and sensuality to the girl that belied her filthy, battered appearance.

“And yet none was made.”  Seeing that the Commander was willing to let her speak, Katja chose directness. “You stood a long time there considering the battle around you, measuring, assessing what had just happened.  I knew then that you knew the arrow had protected, not threatened.  I had hoped, when the day came for us to meet in person, that perhaps you would look kindly upon that.”

“You were so certain that we would meet?”

“We already have. Several times.”  A small smile curled the corner of Katja’s lips.  Though she had not intended to have this particular discussion right now, the opportunity was too much to resist.

“You speak in riddles. Riddles try my patience,”  Lexa frowned. “We have not met.”

“Perhaps not like this, no Heda.  But look at  _ me _ now. Carefully.”  Katja paused then, allowing a long stretch of silence between them.  There was barely a twitch in the Commander’s face.  “You know me.” 

The quiet continued, although the Commander’s glare bore steadily into her.  It was hard to judge what the woman was thinking.  She revealed very little in her expression and even less in her speech.  Katja felt an almost desperate urge to validate her statement and took a deep breath before asking her next question.  “May I ask, Heda, how you have been sleeping?”

“You may not.”  Lexa’s eyes narrowed in warning, the sudden change in direction arousing suspicion.

“I suspect, if I may be so bold, that it has not been well.  Your exhaustion curls off of you like a mist, second in density only, perhaps, to my own.”  Katja tilted her head to the side slightly, resting in against her arm. “Always dreams, never peace.  It has likely been.” she paused and quirked a brow in question, “...weeks?”

“Watch your tongue.  I did not give you permission to continue.”

“Speak.  Do not speak.  Your instructions are conflicting Commander.” Well aware that she was pushing her luck, Katja plowed forward.  “Am I wrong?  The dreams, they are always fragmented, disorderly, except for a pressure at the back of your mind...a presence that is the common thread through them all?  Always just out of reach, out of sight, but always there. Terrifying at first, the strangeness of it, but now that presence, that  _ connection _ , is an addiction you cannot fight.”

“Enough!”  Lexa growled and lunged forward, wrapping the fingers of her right hand firmly around the girl’s neck.  “Do not forget to whom you speak.”

“I do not.”  Katja stared directly into the anger darkened eyes of the Commander.  Heda’s cool fingers about her throat were like a salve, despite their intent to be otherwise.  Slowly, cautiously she allowed the energy to build within her, pushing back into the grip with soothing tones of respect and admiration.  “Heda, Commander of the Twelve Clans, Forger of the Coalition, Bearer of the Flame. I promise you I do not.”

“E-nough.”  The Commander repeated, leaning in so that their noses were almost touching.  All Katja could see was the band of black war paint and the moss green gaze that had occupied so many of her thoughts.  It was a vision made flesh. So very close, and so very intriguing, even given their current murderous glint. If she could just….no.  She blinked rapidly and lost focus, snapping the tenuous link she had made.

Heda recoiled as though she had been struck, clutching the fingers of her right hand.  The Commander shook her head as though to clear it and, eyes wide, took a step back from the contact.

“Heda, I…”  Katja bit her lip, furious with herself for the lack of control.  It was clear from the Commander’s reaction that her emotional meddling had not gone unnoticed.  Heda now looked at her as though she were some sort of viper.

“No,” Lexa cut her off. “No, you have said enough.  Done enough.  You presume to know me.”

“Heda please, I…”

But the Commander had already moved to the door, knocking for entry into the hallway.

“And the prisoner Heda?” One of the men looked beyond Lexa into the tiny room.

“Leave her.”

With a frustrated kick at the empty air, Katja watched the Commander’s retreating back as the door swung closed and she was once again alone. 

* * *

**Monin Hou** \- Welcome back.

 

 


	16. Nia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Amidst her doubts about the intentions of the Commander, Katja receives and unexpected visitor that may offer an alternative to Heda's cruelty.

Pulling back the warm furs that covered her bed, the Commander didn't even bother undressing, too exhausted from the day's events and her continued poor sleep to care. She lay a while on her back, staring up at the tent roof like it held all of the answers she sought. Unfortunately it offered none.

Her meeting with Titus had been, as usual, slightly combative. He was furious with her for speaking alone with the prisoner, citing danger to her person rather than what Lexa knew was the real cause of his ire: fear of missing out on something important. She had tried to reassure him that nothing had happened, though it was clear he hadn't believed her. At every opportunity he pushed for the death of the two captives and although she saw the merit of ridding herself of the pair quickly, she could not shake the feeling that the girl was right. That Lexa knew her.

Reflexively she curled and uncurled the fingers of her right hand, rolling onto her side with a deep sigh. She had almost lost her temper, and over very little. What was it about the dark-haired girl that cracked her careful facade more often than not? Years she had spent refining her impassivity and yet one solemn look, one carefully spoken word from a complete stranger, and her resolve was slipping.

The feel of the girl's slender throat beneath her palm, pulse rapid and thready, did not make her feel more in control, it made her feel weak. It made her feel cowardly and petty. It made her feel as though the only thing she wanted to do was to unravel the mystery hanging before her, not through interrogation and threats, but through real human interaction. Something Lexa wasn't sure she'd had for a long time.

_You know me._

A simple statement. Bold. Fearless. And as much as the Commander wished it wasn't: effective. There was something there in the depths of those forest green eyes that was familiar. Something too in the way the girl spoke so directly and in the crease of her brow when she frowned. When the Commander had squeezed harder to make her point, pressing in close for emphasis , she saw those eyes darken, boring into her own with furious intensity. The Commander kept replaying the startled way the girl had blinked and the gleam of uncertainty that had flitted there before their glare was broken. Being so close to those eyes, that troublesome mouth - Lexa growled and ground a fist into the blankets.

For Lexa it hadn't been the only connection that was severed. She stared at her fingers as though they had betrayed her. When the girl looked away, it had felt like the snap of a string against her fingertips, reverberating up her arm and through the rest of her body, except that it wasn't a physical sensation, it was... it was outside of her ability to describe.

Which is exactly why she didn't mention it to Titus. The _Fleimkepa_ , in his at times over zealous pursuit of her well-being, would no doubt stamp it with insidiousness and use it to force her hand one way or another.

Tomorrow they would continue on towards Polis. Two days would see them to the gates and to safety from outside threats. Those of the internal variety, however, would peak. If the girl truly was what TItus suspected, she would have to be swift and decisive in her approach. Clans less loyal to her could see the girl as a potential puppet with which to challenge the hold of the Commander over the Coalition. Lexa was not so naive to think that the rumours were not flying swiftly through camp.

Heda squeezed her eyes shut. Perhaps Titus was right. Kill them and be done with the whole affair.

* * *

The grating sound of a key in the lock dragged Katja out of the closest thing she'd had to sleep the entire night. The door cracked just enough to admit a single figure, whose shadow cut across the floor and stopped, confident and arrogant, at her dangling feet.

Heda! She cracked her parched lips to speak, but was cut off by the pitying click of a tongue and a voice she didn't recognize.

"Treating you like an animal," the woman stopped at the small table and a match flared. "the shame of it. I do apologize for Heda's lack of respect."

The speaker lit several candles, waiting until they sprang fully to life before turning. Katja's blood ran cold.

"Do you know who I am, _yongon_?"

Nia. Azplana. It was all she could do to bite her tongue to keep from either screaming or hurling obscenities at the Azgeda Queen.

"I see that you do." The infuriating smirk on Nia's face widened to a full grin as she watched the play of emotions across the younger woman's face. "I came to ensure that our Commander was treating a guest of such importance accordingly. Unfortunately I see that that isn't the case."

The Queen turned back, grabbing the handle of the ladle and lazily scooping water from the basin only to pour it slowly back in. Katja's throat squeezed at the sound. The water had been taunting her from across the room all day, its cool relief glinting in the torchlight from the hallway, inaccessible.

"Are you thirsty?"

Katja bowed her head as the woman approached bearing a ladle full of liquid. She willed herself to remain calm. Given what she knew about the Azplana's relationship with the Commander, she doubted this was a sanctioned visit.

The ladle appeared in her field of vision. She gritted her teeth and just barely resisted the urge to lap at it like a dog. Instead she turned her head away and exhaled angrily.

"It seems we may have gotten off on the wrong foot without my knowledge," Nia's voice was quiet, but steely. "What have I done to offend you, _yongon_?"

With an exaggerated sigh, the Queen returned the spoon to the basin and stepped closer - too close - grasping Katja's chin And turning her face back to centre. Katja met the ice blue stare reluctantly, but with as much confidence as she should muster. The corner of Nia's mouth quirked up once more in a smug half grin.

"That's better, yes? It pains me to see you like this, it truly does. Heda does not realize the insult she causes. She does not understand the Old Ways." Nia's fingers ghosted their way across her cheeks as the flickering flame from the candles caused the _natshana_ markings to shift like a mirage. "She does not know the power you possess. But I do."

Katja shivered slightly at the touch. The Queen clearly had a strong idea of who, or what, she was. It made her feel decidedly unsafe.

"My family is rooted in the old traditions. I have been nurturing their survival throughout my reign in Azgeda, knowing that without them, there is no future for the Clans, or this Coalition." The hand came to rest gently against Katja's cheek in what would have otherwise been a comforting manner. Katja choked back a wave of revulsion. "The return of your kind is a sign of that I am sure. I had not expected one so young. Truly I had not expected one at all."

"They're quite beautiful. The texts do not do them justice.". Katja held her gaze steady, but neutral, and allowed the Queen to continue talking. Nia returned to tracing the marking down her nose, dropping her fingertip to rest against the split in her lip. Katja winced and realized the wound confirmed her _natblida_ status. "Will you not speak with me? I mean you no harm."

Katja tried to snort derisively but the dryness of her throat betrayed her and she coughed roughly. The Queen retrieved the ladle once more and held it to Katja's lips.

" _Beja, yongon_. Drink."

"I am not a child." This time Katja accepted. The cooling press of the water against her bottom lip overrode her better judgement. "And I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone that I"m not."

"I meant no disrespect." Nia's eyebrow quirked upwards. "Forgive me, please. But also do not take me for a fool. I come to you as an ally. I know your potential, I know your purpose, and I wish to honour it."

"Your family has a very peculiar definition of honour, Azplana."

"Ah! Indeed," Nia's bark of laughter echoed off the cell's stone walls. "My forefathers were ambitious, and foolish. Do not hold me responsible for their rashness. It is a black mark on our history to be sure. I only hope I can forge a new, mutually beneficial, relationship with you."

"I fail to see what a relationship with me would gain you. I am no one."

"Fine. Continue to deny what I know to be true, it makes no difference to me." Nia waved dismissively at the air, brushing Katja's denial away as thought it were inconsequential.

"Heda is controlling. She will not accept any challenges to her authority. It's not entirely her fault. Commanders have been trained to think and act such since my great-grandfather's day." Nia looked chagrined. "But it puts you in grave danger. I can protect you. I would _like_ to protect you, if you would let me."

It sounded sincere, genuine, and yet not for a second did Katja believe that she would be safer in the hands of Azgeda. The brutality of the Ice Nation had been one of the few constants in recent world history and what Naomi had relayed to her about the current Queen made it seem as though little had changed.

"It's an open offer, _Amin_. Should you decide that Heda's hospitality is not to your liking, you have only to ask and Azgeda will receive you with all of the respect that you deserve. We would be honoured."

Katja's head snapped up at the use of her formal title, a motion that was not lost on Nia. The Queen chuckled and moved to the doorway, knocking to alert the guards that she was finished. Before leaving, she peered back over her shoulder at the girl and smiled as warmly as she could.

"Until then, enjoy your current accommodations."

* * *

As dawn broke, the camp was a hive of activity. Heda had given the orders to move out. They were close to Polis, to home for many of them, and so the pace was fast and mood cheerful.

The Commander sat comfortably atop her horse, watching the last of the preparations. She nodded at the salutes of her warriors, sharing their eagerness to reach the city as soon as possible.

Two empty supply wagons, used for hauling grain for their army mounts, were brought to the front of the concrete bunker that served as the camp prison. Lexa watched as a large man, his bruised and swollen face unrecognizable in the soft light of the morning, was dragged by his arms and thrown unceremoniously into the back of the first wagon. His hands and feet were bound to bolts in the corners and two layers of fine netting were secured over the top. There was no struggle. She did not even think he was conscious.

She knew that people were watching. The prisoners had been the topic of conversation around every bonfire and bedroll in the entire encampment. There was nothing she could do to dissuade it, nor did she try. Secrecy and denial would only lead to problems, and she preferred to have the captives out in the open where she could keep a better eye on them.

Next came the girl, who looked downright minuscule after her companion. The guards had done as Lexa commanded and replaced the hooded tunic, once a light grey but now a mottled collection of stains. With the hood up, the girl's face was entirely obscured within its shadows, hidden from prying eyes and curiosity seekers.

Lexa found herself leaning forward in the saddle for a better look. The girl could barely support her own weight, half stumbling half being hauled along the ground and being hefted roughly into the second wagon. She was similarly restrained. Heda wheeled her horse towards the head of the assembling column and signalled to move out.

Every jolt and bump of the wagons wheels introduced Katja to a new agony. She began to think even the hook was preferable to having her already battered body bounced around on the rough wooden planks. The drivers, she was certain, were being as indelicate as possible.

Instead she tried to focus on the passing foliage above, enjoying the dappled rays of sunlight that made their way through the canopy. Autumn was waning and the leaves overhead, ablaze in the oranges and reds of the fall, were a colourful reminder that winter would soon descend.

Several times during the day, a white painted face would ride up parallel to her wagon and look in with a curt nod. Katja took it as dual meaning. Nia was watching out for her, but also watching her. She had plenty of time to dissect her conversation with The Azgeda leader. The woman was calculating and cold by all accounts, and Katja had certainly seen that, but she could not ignore the option of aid from the Queen should the situation with the Commander not resolve itself favourably.

The day passed without much excitement save for a small scuffle over some perceived slight that no one paid much mind. Spirits remained high, for which Lexa was thankful. As long as the Warriors were preoccupied with thoughts of their loved ones and some leave time, they would more likely reach Polis without much distraction, allowing her to figure out exactly what she was going to do with the Skaikru, the remains of the Mountain, and the two prisoners strapped into wagons in their midst.

It was the latter that preoccupied Lexa. Her previous conversation played on a constant loop in her thoughts, to the point that Indra had to repeat, twice, the latest reconnaissance that had been gathered on Mount Weather. It stood empty.

There was still no sign of Clark.

* * *

**Yongon** _\- child_

**Beja** _\- please_


	17. Ai Laik Nyko

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trouble on the road gives Katja the chance to make herself useful and in the process she gains her first supporter. Heda is, as always, skeptical.

They stopped for the night in an area that offered nothing in the way of man-made shelter. There were few buildings between here and Polis left standing, and all of the underground tunnels had been carefully filled in to dissuade invasion from underground. The lack of walls made no difference to the Clan armies, who were more at home out under the stars than cooped up in concrete bunkers.

Tents were erected with practiced ease and cooking fires roared seemingly seconds after the order to halt was given. The long day's ride, although the pace had been leisurely, made the prospect of a warm meal and a bedroll more than welcomed. Lexa met briefly with her Generals, arranging an order and placement for patrols and retreated to her command tent, sending Indra to deal with the prisoners, a task she intended to avoid for as long as possible.

The Trikru General wove her way through the crowded camp, nodding brusquely to those that addressed her and ignoring everyone who did not. She disliked having been sent as Heda's errand girl when any of her guards would have sufficed and so the intimidating scowl that normally graced her features was even deeper than usual. It was obvious however, that the Commander wanted loyal eyes on the prisoners and so Indra chose to take the mundane task, however annoying, as a sign of trust.

The General was uncertain what to make of the pair. She had a fairly good idea what interested Titus and Heda about the girl but she had seen nothing to lend any sort of credence to the belief. The prisoner seemed pathetically weak, and worse still, submissive, the bruises along her cheekbone and at her wrists glowering like beacons of her ineptness.

Indra chewed thoughtfully at the inside of her lower lip, smoothly sidestepping a fresh pile of horse dung and treading quickly through a group of warriors who parted nervously to allow her passage. Trikru, like many of the northern clans, remained deeply rooted in the Old Ways. Their southern cousins, safe from the frigid bite of harsh winter had - in the opinion of many - strayed into indolence and indulgence, their feasts and gilded weaponry a far cry from the more utilitarian approach of the North.

Still though, they came from the same stock, had survived that same catastrophe so many years ago; she had to believe in a common thread of humanity through all twelve distinct peoples. It was no small credit to Heda that they had all come together under her leadership, and in the face of the continuing threat of the mountain, to form the current Coalition. Her own grandmother, keeper of Trikru lore for many years, used to tell her tales of the great Councils and the birth of the Clans. How balance and justice, not borne of self-interest or personal gain, provided stability and safety for all who took part. History seemed set to repeat itself.

She had always assumed the old woman's stories to be just that, tales told to fascinate children, and yet in front of her stood the possibility that it was so much more. First had come Lexa, a Commander with a gift for pursuing the greater good and seeing the larger picture. Her wisdom was that of an old soul and her fervour whipped even the most stoic among the generals into a frenzy. What she lacked in age was more than made up for by her determination and although the Coalition was still in its infancy, it was a cause that Indra supported wholeheartedly. She was unsure whether the appearance of this stranger, at a time with tensions were particularly high, was a blessing or a curse. Indra didn't like change, or uncertainty, and she had the distinct feeling that this young woman was the physical embodiment of both.

Up ahead she spotted the two supply wagons, which had been pulled off the road across from the command tent. As she approached, she caught Ogden's attention and the large man and his companions snapped to respectful attention.

"You. Release the girl," Indra barked in a tone that was clearly used to being obeyed. "Tie her hands behind her back, leash her to a tree or yourself, I care not. Your head is dependent on her being present in front of the Commander in three hours' time."

"Sha, General. Understood."

"You and you," Indra jutted her chin at the other two. "Take the man and do the same. He is to be securely lashed. Tie his feet. If he causes a problem, you have my permission to stop him however you see fit."

The two smirked and bowed slightly before moving off to fetch Lewan. The priest was conscious, but barely so and offered no problems as he was pulled from the back of the wagon, tied hand and foot, and marched off towards a large oak. They shoved him roughly at the base of the trunk, chuckling as he stumbled to his knees and collapsed. One guard held him upright while the other wound a thick rope about the tree, binding the injured man in place.

Indra nodded her approval and turned her attention to the second wagon, where Ogden was in the process of removing the netting that covered the otherwise open back. Approaching the side board, she peered over the edge at the figure tied spread eagle to the corners. Herself not being particularly large, Indra knew well not to underestimate the girl based on her size. Still, the prisoner looked pitiful, taking up so little room that they could have easily packed in a full complement of supplies around her.

The General swept her gaze over Katja from boot to hood. Her clothes, once a delicate mix of greys, had all blended into the same shade of nondescript brown that matched forest soil. The folded mass of the hood pooled, covering half of the stranger's face, while the other half lay hidden in the shadow it created. A few locks of hair had strayed into the light, but they were matted and greasy. The girl looked far less a leader than a lost soul.

Indra's eyes were drawn to the prisoner's bound hands. One the Trikru guards had made mention of it when she had quizzed him about his shift inside the girl's cell. It was exactly how he had described. Starting right at the very tips, the fingers of both hands were jet black, with no indication remaining of the pale skin beneath. The intensity faded back towards her wrists, slowly shifting from pure ebony until only the faintest of grey was visible halfway up her forearms. The depth of the colour looked more like dye than tattoo ink and the gradient was so subtle, the transition so gradual, that it made it look as though her arms faded into nothingness at the wrists. The effect was unsettling.

She watched carefully as Ogden released the girl's hands and prodded her into a sitting position. The General heard a muffled groan in response. Laying flat in a bouncing cart through Trikru lands could not have been comfortable and Indra's back ached in sympathy. The girl kept her head carefully down while her jailer wrenched her hands behind her back and bound them together. The free end of the lengthy rope he tied securely to his own waist, effectively leashing her to him. He untied her feet next and dragged her from the back by the front of her tunic. Indra watched the prisoner's knees wobble, threaten to buckle, and then straighten stubbornly.

Ogden jerked the rope and headed off to join the other two guards, half dragging Katja behind him while her legs adjusted to once again having to move. She peered as best she could from beneath the hood at her surroundings, noting Indra and the three guards and behind them the semi-organized sprawl of the main camp. Her gaze swivelled back to the front as she concentrated on putting one aching foot in front of the other. Beyond the fire in front of her was a greyish-white mass strapped to a thick tree. It took her a moment to recognize it as Lewan.

A choked gasp escaped her lips and ignoring her restraints, she started towards him at a jog. She could see nothing more of his face than a mess of dirt, blood and bruising. His imprisonment appeared to have been far less pleasant that her own, so much so that he gave no acknowledgement of her presence. The rope snapped taut before she could reach him, sending her staggering backwards as Ogden reeled her in like an oversized fish.

"Please," her voice, quietly commanding, barely carried over the crackle of the fire. "He's badly hurt, let me see him."

"Sit down. Shut up." The massive guard ignored her plea and jerked her into a sitting position at his feet. "Try that again and you'll get a tree of your own."

"But-..."

"I said shut it!" He shoved at her with his knee and moved to sit down a short distance away, warily watching her for signs of trouble. Indra joined him, but despite the combined weight of both of their stares, she remained preoccupied, keeping her eyes fixed firmly on Lewan, wishing he would look up, meet her gaze, and give her some sort of indication that he was okay. Instead he slumped limply against his bonds, his eyes swollen shut and his chest rising in shallow, broken breaths.

Katja had just opened her mouth to protest further when the deafening sound of an explosion ripped through the camp from the direction of the Commander's tent. The once settled army became a whirlwind in a matter of seconds. Indra immediately rose and bolted in Heda's direction, her first charging step beginning even before the debris from the blast had settled. Lewan's guards were up and around him with lightning speed and Ogden drew Katja closer by the rope at his waist. Everywhere was the sound of running feet, screams, and the bellowed orders of warriors.

Amidst the chaos, Katja immediately fixated on a wounded woman laying sprawled in the middle of the road. She clutched at her right thigh in obvious pain and tried ineffectively to stem the flow of blood pouring from between her fingers. Near her were two scouts, whose thin leathers had done little to protect them from the force of the blast. One was clearly dead, his unseeing eyes locked on a spot on the ground not far from where Katja sat, while the other appeared to have a sizeable gash along his forearm and was wailing like a child.

She was on her feet before she could think twice, using all the strength she had to pull a surprised Ogden along for the ride.

* * *

The incendiary device had missed the command tent by a good margin, but instead had fallen in a large group of warriors helping to unpack food from one of the supply carts. The heavy smoke made it difficult to make much sense of the panic that followed the blast. The camp of warriors was in disarray, with the injured strewn about the site of impact and those able to do so fleeing frantically from the area as fast as their legs would take them.

The guards rallied around Heda, their broad shoulders forming a protective wall around the Commander in case of a full assault. But aside from the cries of the injured and the dying, there was nothing.

"Heda!" A voice off to the left somewhere. Lexa spun to see the hulking shape of Ogden materialize out of the grey. He was struggling to control the much smaller form of Katja, who pulled at her rope lead and dragged him towards the Commander.

" _Moba_ , Heda. I tried to t-" The large man flushed a furious red and readied several feeble excuses for the interruption.

"Commander please," Katja cut him off, her voice oddly calm. " _Beja, teik ai sis au_. Let me help these people."

Lexa eyed her incredulously, flicking a glance to the sheepish guard who had allowed a girl half his size to haul him across camp. Ignoring Katja for the time being, she sent one of her men to find the Generals and organize a sweep of the area, though she knew the chances of finding the culprits was slim. The attack was cowardly, designed to disrupt and terrify as much as it was to kill. The assailants would be long gone.

" _Beja_ , Heda, I can help!"

"Escort her back to the wagons. Ensure that she stays there this time." Lexa lifted her chin, piercing the incompetent jailer with a flinty glare. Ogden bowed deeply and tightened his grip on the rope. He was grateful that this one interruption had not cost him his life, and dared not tempt a second.

"We could use all the assistance we can get Heda." The Commander's head whipped around as her chief healer, Nyko, appeared from the direction of the explosion, hands slick with blood and mouth set in a grim line. "Some can be saved but we must act quickly."

"Nyko." The one word statement was enough to stop him in his tracks. "Are you suggesting I simply take her word as truth? What proof do we have that she shares your gifts?"

"What proof do we have that she does not?" Nyko straightened his shoulders and met the moss green gaze of the Commander. He spoke it not as a challenge, but as a fact, and although Heda's eyes narrowed, she held her anger. "Let me have her and if she proves useless I will have her returned to the wagons."

"Untie her hands. Bind her feet and waist." The Commander hesitated but for a moment before making a decision. She stared hard at the girl as Ogden did as he was instructed. "Do not let her hands out of your sight for even a moment and if she so much as twitches in a way that you feel is suspicious, kill her."

"Sha, Heda!"

Nyko bowed in thanks and directed Katja to the pair of wounded on the road. Tossing her a pack of healing supplies, he began tending to the man with the cut forearm. Without missing a beat she crouched in front of the more seriously injured woman. This was clearly a test.

Arterial bleed. Severe but not impossible.

The woman was conscious, her mouth frozen in a grimace. With her free hand, she reached out desperately toward Katja before realizing the identity of the form knelt at her side. With a terrified shriek she attempted to scramble away, her booted feet scrabbling frantically against the hard packed dirt of the road, but her panic succeeded only in jetting a fresh spurt of blood from between her fingers.

" _Ai nou na yu laksen_." Katja held her hands out in front of her in what she hoped was a soothing gesture. The reaction was not one she was accustomed to. Healers were supposed to be received with relief and hope by the stricken, not fear and uncertainty. Whatever rumors had been spread around the camp clearly had not been positive.

Knowing that her best option was to get her hands on the woman as soon as possible, she took a breath and concentrated, feeling the diffuse pin pricks of energy beneath her skin begin to coalesce into dense pools at the center of her palms. With a quick motion she reached out and covered the woman's hands with her own, focusing on suppressing the pain that she could see, as much as feel, searing in rippling waves along the injured leg.

Almost immediately the woman's cries quieted to a whimper and she grabbed at Katja's wrist as though it were a lifeline. As her patient began to relax, Katja gently moved her clutching hands to the side and examined the injury. It was more of a large slash than a puncture, with a small gleam of something metallic visible in the pooling blood. By the rate of bleeding it appeared to be a nic as opposed to a full sever, making the time and energy required to heal it less of a drain on her abilities.

From the pack she grabbed the canteen of water, flushing out the wound with a steady stream of liquid while one hand rested against the woman's thigh, slowing the bleeding from the surrounding area and allowing her a better view of the shrapnel. She wished that she had her own supplies for the extraction, this wasn't likely to be pleasant. Readying herself to stem the blood once the fragment was removed, she reached inside the wound, her fingertips finding the metal shard embedded deep within the tissue.

Nyko, surprised at the sudden silence, looked up to see the prisoner carefully withdraw the foreign material, an act that should have been excruciating, with little more than a peep from the warrior. There was no spurt of blood, no scream, just gritted teeth and a piece of metal about the size of a small knife blade. His eyebrows shot upwards.

" _Nou get you daun_. _Chil au._ You're going to be fine." Katja pressed lightly against the bleeding gash with both hands, knitting together the small hole in the artery while reassuring the woman. With others wounded, it would do no good to completely heal her current patient. If she conserved her energy and simply did the minimum to stabilize them, it would be possible to help many more.

"It will need stitching," she said, lifting her eyes to meet the Clan healer's own. She had felt his stare burning into the top of her head and was not surprised to see a look of disbelief on his bearded face. "More will be helped if I am able to get to them quickly. I can remove them from immediate danger, if you and your healers can follow behind dressing wounds and stitching cuts."

Nyko considered her suggestion in light of what he had witnessed. In all honesty he had not expected the injured woman to live, and yet she lay back against the ground in a state of relative comfort. When he had requested the girl's help from Heda, his only hope had been that she knew how to secure a bandage, not...whatever she had just done. He had heard the rumours the same as everyone else but had dismissed them as fantastical.

Under his continued stare he saw the girl sigh deeply and lift her chin higher, tilting her head back to allow the light of day to pierce the veil of her hood. She blinked, slowly, and met his stare straight on. Nyko sucked in a breath through his teeth and swallowed heavily.

"These people need our help, _fisa._ And quickly," she urged, allowing her mask to fade and the unnatural hue of green to return to her irises. She saw the look on his face, disbelief tinged with fear, and hoped she hadn't made a mistake. "There will be time enough for doubts and questions later but for now I need you to trust that my intentions are good, and our goals the same."

As he watched, the shade of the girl's eyes shifted to an impossibly vibrant green, alight with flickering whorls of chartreuse that sparked and moved as she spoke. Small tendrils of white, unbeknownst to him the result of having tended to the woman at her feet, worked their way into the pattern from the edges of her irises. Nyko found himself unable to look away, unable to move, and unable to answer. He knew he was being shown intentionally, trust in exchange for trust, but his mind simply could not process what it was seeing in a way that made logical sense.

" _Beja, fisa_ ," Her tone was one step removed from begging. "Our help is needed. We must move quickly. I will assess first, and your team will follow? I cannot do this without you."

Nyko remained still a moment longer before shaking his head, the beads in his braided hair clicking together softly with the motion. Trust. Something he rarely gave, even amongst his own people and yet here was a complete stranger asking him to put the lives of many into her unfamiliar hands. Lives that Heda had entrusted to him, and that he would likely pay dearly for should they be lost due to maliciousness or negligence. Trust her, she asked and while he had no real reason for it, deep down he knew that he did.

And so they moved as a group through the fallen warriors, Katja out front, dealing with urgent injuries and managing pain while Nyko's skilled team sutured and salved and wrapped in her wake. Together they treated those who stood a chance at recovery. Those who did not, she skipped over for healers to relieve of their pain. She made her choices logically and without emotion, moving with quiet authority about the site of the explosion with a disgruntled Ogden firmly in tow. In three hours work, they had managed to aid seventeen clansfolk - roughly two thirds of those who had been caught in the blast.

Nyko grinned triumphantly at the prisoner across the resting body of the last victim as he sewed the last stitch into a nasty jaw wound. Her head was down and the fingertips of one hand rested firmly against the ground, flexing slightly as a shudder flitted across her slender frame. He motioned for a couple of his juniors to transfer the wounded man to the makeshift barracks that had been set up and dipped his head questioningly towards the girl, trying to peer beneath the peaked edge of the hood.

"Are you all right?" He angrily waved off Ogden, who took the pause as something sinister and looked ready to yank her back under his control by the rope at her waist.

"T-tired." She gave a small nod to indicate that she was fine, but lowered her head further, refusing to let him see the pure white of her eyes that she knew he would find. "It is...draining. I need to rest."

"We are finished here," Nyko rocked back onto his heels and waved Ogden forward as he watched her struggle to her feet and sway dangerously. "Take her back to the wagons, feed her, and make sure she is made as comfortable as possible."

"I am no nursemaid," the large guard growled defiantly. If Heda had wanted the girl comfortable, she would have said so.

"Then feed her at the very least." Nyko pinched at the bridge of his nose in exasperation. "Think what you may but without her a dozen more people would have died today. She may be a prisoner but she has earned at least a warm meal. I will speak with the Commander should it become a problem."

With a grunt, Ogden stooped and slung his thick arm around Katja's waist. As they made their way back to the camp fire, it was difficult to tell whether he was supporting, or outright carrying her.

He dipped a cup into the steaming stew that hung over the low fire and thrust it at her in aggravation. Her chin rested softly in against her chest and her hands were balled into white knuckled fists at her side; she did not even acknowledge him. Again, a shudder shook her from head to toe, as her breathing shifted to long, controlled cycles.

" _Choj up_! You should be thankful to get anything." He shoved the cup back at her and watched as the jet black fingers of her left hand unfurled with irritating slowness and wrapped around the handle. " _Branwoda._ "

Katja nursed the offering, relishing the heat of the cup between her chilled fingers. The root vegetables and grisly meat that made up the stew were not particularly appetizing, but by that point, after days of nothing, it was the most delicious thing she had ever seen. She barely stopped the low moan of satisfaction that threatened to escape as she sunk her teeth into a bland chunk of potato. Guiltily she snuck a quick glance over at Lewan, who was still slumped against the tree. She knew that she could do nothing for him until she recovered, however it still felt like a betrayal.

The three guards were soon engrossed in a heated discussion about who could hurl a great axe most accurately and so Katja lay down, curling into a fetal position facing the fire and willing the heat closer. The pain would pass, as would the shudders, but for the time being it felt as though she were being simultaneously dipped into a furnace and an ice bath. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut against the stabbing pain at her temples and tried in vain to sleep.

A short while later, she heard Ogden shuffle to his feet and cracked an eye open tentatively. Crouched just to her side was the healer from earlier, a large, heavy fur bundled under his arm. She made a move to sit up but he stilled her with a gentle hand on her shoulder before opening the fur and laying it over her. Immediately the warmth enveloped her and the tension eased across her shoulders. She would not meet his eyes but dipped her chin in thank you.

" _Ai laik Nyko, kom Trikru_ ," He stated softly, ignoring Ogden's displeased glare. " _Mochof._ I do not understand how you did what you did. I do not care. You saved lives that you had no obligation or reason to even bother with, and for that you have my thanks." He rested his hand once more against her shoulder, giving it a small squeeze before standing and retreating back towards the area of the camp where his companions waited.

Katja opened her eyes and watched him go, surprised to find a spot of humanity in what otherwise had been a horrendous introduction to the Clans. He was still nervous around her, she had felt it in his touch even through the furs, but she hoped his small act of kindness was a stepping stone towards something better. She burrowed further under the fur until the bristly hairs tickled at her nose. The warmth was glorious.

As she felt her eyes begin to slide closed, they came to rest on a solitary figure beyond the fire. Katja blinked rapidly and the woman came into focus. _Heda_. Her tired body refused to make the effort to rise and so she simply lay there like easy prey under the hawkish glare of the brunette. Green eyes locked on green, and although she could be mistaken, Katja's initial glimpse showed something other than hostility in the Commander's stare before the wall slammed down and the more familiar cold detachment once again took root.

She prayed that the Commander would give her this small peace, a chance to rest and recover before subjecting her to whatever torments she planned next. To her great relief, Heda merely narrowed her eyes, a muscle along her jaw clenching in annoyance at having been caught out, before turning sharply and stalking off towards her tent. Thank the gods for small miracles, Katja found herself thinking before sleep finally claimed her.

* * *

_**Beja, teik ai sis au**_ – Please, let me help

_**Ai nou na yu laksen**_ – I won't hurt you

_**Nou get you daun**_ **.** _ **Chil au**_ \- Don't worry. Relax.

_**Fisa**_ \- healer

_**Choj up!**_ – Eat!

_**Branwoda**_ – derogatory term, like idiot


	18. Report Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander gets a full update from Nyko. Nia makes an appearance, forcing Lexa's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, I apologize for being so slow at updating. I wrote, re-wrote, re-re-wrote, and re-re-rewrote this chapter. Four times.  
> In its entirety. Believe it or not I'm still not happy with it. I'd really love some feedback from you guys, it's a great motivating factor and it means a lot to see that someone took a second out of their day to read your stuff. Comment/question away! Good, bad or ugly I will answer them all.

The search parties had returned empty handed, as she suspected they would and despite having been careful to include at least one member from each of the Clans, already the finger-pointing and accusations had started. Those unloading the supply wagons had largely been Sangedakru, whose long-standing quarrels with both Azgeda and Delphi were well-known. An incident several months ago had raised tensions anew between the three and now thinly veiled barbs were traded in front of those assembled in the throne room. 

The Commander had been hard pressed to appear impassive as Sankru’s Bandrona snivelled aimlessly without proof while Nia smirked her infuriating smirk in the background, waiting. One wrong word from Lexa would have the Azplana calling offense, likely instigating a larger conflict, and bringing those snarling, snapping teeth biting ever closer to the command. Delicacy was required, however trying it was to her patience.

When the complaints once again rose in volume, she had coolly asked if anyone had considered that the threat had come from outside of the Clans themselves. Half blinked as though she had suggested day was now night, and others began whispering amongst themselves. Nia seemed disappointed, and quietly slipped out of the tent without further ado.  It was as though with the fall of the Mountain and the disappearance of Klark, the idiots believed there were no foes left to manage.  She prayed she would reach Polis with her sanity in check.

And then came Nyko. 

“Report.” Heda arched a brow at the Trikru healer, whose face was still flushed with excitement, fresh from tending to the wounded. She sat in feigned disinterest upon the throne, legs crossed languidly and a hand absently tracing patterns along the dark wood of the armrest.  

“She--..” He closed his mouth abruptly and tried again. “I…”

“Do not waste my time Nyko.” Lexa narrowed her eyes and slapped an open palm firmly against the armrest, the noise enough to startle him out of whatever stupor was tying his tongue. He was by far one of the steadiest members of her senior warriors and to see him in such a state was unusual. One look at his agitation when he had entered was enough for her to know there could only be one cause, and so despite protests she had cleared the room before motioning Nyko forward. He would give her much more than a logistical recounting and she needed to have an open, frank discussion away from prying ears and eyes.

“ _ Moba, Heda _ . And once again my deepest thanks for your assistance earlier,” he bowed deeply and met her inquisitive gaze head on. “We were able to save many including, as may interest you, a nephew of the Sankru Bandrona.” Nyko’s lips curled ever so slightly at the edges. He had been in the room awaiting his audience while the insufferable man passive aggressively mewled his suspicions to the Commander.  “Whom I'm sure, once informed, will be immensely grateful for your aid.”

“I’m sure.”  The brow arched higher as Lexa filed away that tidbit of information for later. Nyko’s loyalty had always been one of the few indisputable truths in her command and once again his astuteness came through.  She would have to personally, publicly, check on the progress of the young man.  “Continue.”

“Seventeen have been tended to and are now recovering. We have--...”

“We?” Heda cut him off. “Again with this we. Enlighten me as to who else I placed in charge of my injured and dying?”

“I was referring to my, er, team of healers, Heda,” Nyko swallowed heavily, unable to read the Commander’s tone, “as a whole.  All deserve praise for the work that was done today.  Many of those now resting should not still be with us.”

“I see.” Lexa uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, a lengthy silence stretching awkwardly out between them. She had many things she wanted to ask the healer, some appropriate, some less so, and for once hardly knew where to begin.  She cleared her throat and jutted her chin out, sitting ramrod straight on the throne. “And the prisoner?”

“The prisoner’s skills as a healer are substantial, Heda.” Nyko offered cautiously. “You were wise to allow her to help.”

“How long have we known each other Nyko?”  The Commander sighed and gestured dismissively towards him, watching as the surprise flitted briefly across his face.  She could feel him calculating the question, trying to determine the correct answer, if there was one. 

“Since you were a child Heda.” He frowned and shifted his feet nervously. “You knocked me unconscious with a wooden sword in the market when you were but six.”

“Hm.” She nodded calmly and leaned forward as though to confide in him. He tensed. “Safe to assume then perhaps, that you know me as well as anyone might?”

“Perhaps,” was all he could manage between clenched teeth before his voice lowered to a whisper.  ”Though I would not assume to know you now, Heda.” He had, in fact, been Heda’s personal healer since her first day of  _ natblida _ training and had soothed more cuts, bumps and bruises in his time than most had had words with her.   His comment reflected, in as respectful a way as he could manage, her elevation to Commander and their drifting companionship.

“Tell me then, how much I enjoy empty flattery and vague information.” Externally she hadn't even flinched, but Nyko was one of very few that she trusted entirely with her life, and his words stung dearly.  Friendships and casual conversations were not things life currently afforded her and reminders of that fact were frequent. 

“Loathe would likely be too soft a word, Heda.”

“Loathe.  Yes.” She nodded sharply and rose from her seat, stepping slowly off the dais to prowl gracefully in front of him. “Loathe indeed.  So I will ask you once more, and this time I expect details. Facts. Nothing is to be left out or considered irrelevant, is that clear?”

“Sha, Heda.”

“Very well. Again then. And the prisoner?”

“Is nothing short of astounding, Heda.”  Nyko ducked his head respectfully, knowing that in her own way, Lexa was asking for not only the events of the day, but also his personal observations. “I have never, in all my time as  _ fisa _ , seen anyone do what she did today.  I do not mean simply skill in healing...we have many gifted healers amongst the Clans.  She is… different.”  He paused, not certain how to describe the girl adequately.

“Different, how?”  The Commander motioned Nyko over to a large rectangular table in the corner of the tent, and indicated to one of the two chairs.  She had every intention of this being a long conversation.  There was no need for either of them to be forced to stay upon their weary feet.

“It’s difficult to explain, my apologies Heda.  I will try to find the words.  She is...special.”  He glanced up to meet Lexa’s gaze and exhaled slowly, pulling out first her chair, and then his own.  If he had been given leeway to speak, he intended to use it fully.  “I have heard the rumours around camp.  Different versions of them: healer, ancient, monster, god, blessing, curse...and from what I have seen, the power is there for her to be any of those things. All of those things.  You could almost feel a sense of purpose, of calm even, as though her presence commanded it.  Working closely with her was like a tonic, blocking out the surrounding mess and allowing clear focus on the wounded.  It was unsettling, I am still trying to piece together a logical reason for it.”  He frowned deeply and dropped his eyes, feeling uncomfortable.  “I’m sorry Heda, I know this all sounds very foolish.”

“No, Nyko, you are telling me what I need to hear.  You know perfectly well that I know the numbers of casualties and wounded.  That is not why I summoned you.  Please go on.” 

“I assigned her a serious injury first.  One I thought doomed to fail.  Nothing risked and so  nothing lost in a way.”  He stared blankly at the surface of the table and shook his head softly. “By the time I looked up, the warrior she treated was barely wincing while the prisoner had half of her hand buried in the wound.  The woman should have been screaming.  Loudly.  But as I watched, the flow of blood slowed and the girl spoke quietly to her, easing her back onto the ground.  The wounded warrior was conscious the entire time, and by the end rested peacefully in very little pain, despite her injury.”

“How?  What medicines did she use?”

“She used her hands, Heda.  Only her hands. I cannot explain it.  It makes no rational sense, but the only thing I could see was that her hand was kept on the warrior at all times.  It was the one constant throughout the day and believe me, I watched her very closely as per your orders.”

“She healed what you considered a fatal injury with nothing more than her hands?”  The Commander blinked quickly and frowned, clearly skeptical.  “There must be another explanation.”

“As I also thought but with each person it was the same, a quick assessment of the injury, water to wash out the wound, and contact.  She would then move on to the next.  I never saw her use anything else from the supplies I provided.”  He held his own hand up in between them and flexed his fingers. Everything about the girl defied reason and he felt he was doing a poor job of impressing the overwhelming nature of it upon the Commander. “She spoke to me.”

Lexa sat up a little straighter and unconsciously spread her own hand wide on her thigh. A memory of the prisoner, weary and bloodied, came unbidden along with low, rolling tones of the girl’s hypnotic voice.  _ Look closely at me now, Heda.  You know me. _

“Have you heard her speak, Heda?”  Nyko broke into her reverie with the question, and she nodded crisply in response.  “Then perhaps I do not need to explain,”  a small smile pulled at the corners of his mouth as her jaw clenched unconsciously.  “She said that she would remove the wounded from danger if your  _ fisas _ would follow behind to do the stitching and bandaging.”  He paused, unsettled by both his own thoughts and the close scrutiny of the Commander.  “I did not agree.  Or disagree.  I did nothing.”

“Did she indicate exactly how she would ‘remove the wounded from danger’?”  The look on his face was curious as was his fidgeting.  In the back of her mind she wondered if perhaps he was in shock, but dismissed the idea just as quickly.  Nyko had seen far more gruesome displays than today’s explosion and treated far worse than burns and shrapnel cuts.   

“No, Heda.”

“Did she say anything else to convince you?”

“No, Heda.  She didn't  _ say _ anything.  She sighed.  I believe my lack of response was frustrating. People were dying while I sat there immobile. ”  He clasped his hands tightly in his lap, holding firmly enough that his knuckles began to whiten around the edges.  “Instead she showed me...something.  That hood, the one she wears constantly, it is not just for warmth.”  It as a statement, not a question. Lexa’s sharp inhalation told him that she knew precisely what he meant, so he continued. “Nothing I could tell you could do them justice.  Those eyes, Commander...even thinking about them now I’m frozen halfway between terror and idolatry.  It shames me to say so.”

“Tell me Nyko.  About them.  Tell me what they were like.”  Lexa struggled to keep her voice even. The brief glimpse she had gotten when they first arrived had been more than enough to shake her resolve. She had put off dealing with the captives since her last conversation with the girl and steadfastly maintained, contrary to the niggling voice of her conscience, that it was due to workload and not outright avoidance.

“She tilted her head back into the sun, and at first I saw nothing unusual.  She is…beautiful;  however I was not prepared for when she blinked.  It was slow and purposeful, and as her eyes reopened,” his own eyes widened as he explained, “it was as though I looked into Fate itself. I have never seen something so captivating Heda.  Such raw power.  For some time I could not speak, I just stared as they flickered and shifted.  That colour does not exist in nature, but now that I have seen it, I would gladly beg to see it again.”  Embarrassed, he smoothed a hand over his beard and smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I sound sentimental.  I have never been struck in this way by someone before.  Instantly, whatever doubts I may have had vanished and I quickly gave the order to follow her plan.”

“She forced you?  Somehow?”  The Commander’s fingers now bit painfully into her own leg.  Listening to Nyko talk was like reliving her own experience in close quarters with the girl.  She dreamt about it still.

“No, Heda. I do not believe I was cursed.  Or coerced.  The choice was my own. I also don’t think it was something that she wanted to do.  She wanted me to trust her, and needed me to do so quickly, so she offered a secret in exchange.” There was quiet for several minutes while both he and Lexa digested the conversation. Nyko finally found his voice as the candle directly in front of him hissed and sputtered in the silence, before going out.  

“She saved them all, Commander.  The Clan healers did their part, absolutely, and should be thanked, but she  _ saved _ them.  I watched her move from person to person, calmly, objectively assessing and soothing as she could; erasing pain, easing suffering...when frankly she had no reason to.  I saw the bruising on her face.  Titus’ work I am assuming.”  Lexa bristled slightly but he held up a hand before she could respond. “I do not question you.  I am simply surprised that she insisted.  I would have watched them all die and enjoyed every one.”

“And where is she now?” 

“I instructed her guard to return her to the wagons.”  He dropped his gaze to the toe of his boot and prayed his next confession caused him no harm. “I ordered her fed.”

“Nyko….”

“She was not well Heda.”

“Not well?”  An unbidden surge of panic flooded her system, erasing whatever anger she may have felt at his presumptuousness.  Where did it come from, this unnerving swell of emotion?  She was the Commander and the girl a mere prisoner and yet the dread that sat low and heavy in her chest refused to fade.

“She hides it very well.  Hides many things well it would seem, Heda.” He smiled wryly. “By the end she could barely stand.  She admitted to me that the healing was draining.  She was exhausted beyond measure and, despite her efforts to disguise it, very clearly in pain.  I ordered the guard to assist her and provide a warm meal.  I realize that I have overstepped my bounds and will accept any punishment you see Commander.”

“How is she now Nyko?”  To his surprise, Heda focussed not on his transgressions but on the girl, allowed a note of worry to creep into her voice.  

“Not...well, forgive the repetition Commander.  I watched to make sure she was given food as per my direction, and she was, but I am concerned.  She was curled in a ball as close to a fire as her restraints would allow, rigid, shivering, and breathing very erratically.  It was difficult to tell but I’m certain she was struggling to control it, to maintain an outward appearances.  Her guard is not the most observant of men Heda. He ignored her entirely, but I could see each twitch and grimace.  It looked extremely uncomfortable.”

“When she told you that healing was draining, did you have a sense of what exactly that meant?” 

“No Heda. Though I think it safe to assume it requires energy of some sort, a reserve perhaps. I could ask her if you wish?”

“No. I will ask her myself Nyko, when the time comes.”

“I hope that time comes soon Commander.”

“What would you have me do Nyko? We arrive in Polis tomorrow evening and I will be expected to collect the usual reports. I cannot put off my duties as Commander simply because something bright and shiny has landed in our midst.  She is simply a prisoner. ”

“Permission to speak openly?”

“Granted.”

“I do not think for a moment that you truly believe that yourself Commander.”  Nyko squared his shoulders but there was a soft perceptiveness to his look that Lexa found disconcerting.  “You have seen the things I saw today.  You have had the benefit of study and time in her company.  I can only tell you what I experienced, but it is you who will have to decide her fate.  Listen carefully to yourself.  Beneath the armour of the Commander, and the careful walls you have built, listen to yourself because I think you already know what she is, if not who just quite yet.”

“Do you believe it to be true?”  A brief flicker of something indecipherable passed over the Commander, and Nyko caught it before he was once again shut out, the solitary pressures of the command once again separating them by their roles.

“I do.”  He rose slowly and bowed.  “Beyond a doubt.”  Heda lowered her eyes, which he took as a dismissal, turning and all but fleeing from the tent as fast as propriety would allow.

Lexa paced back and forth before the throne, kicking a small pebble between her booted toes. It was true that tomorrow they would be in Polis, where a sense of routine and calm should allow her time to speak again with the girl on her own terms, but her mind refused to move on from the discussion with the healer. She growled at her own indecision, torn between maintaining a sense of aloofness and satisfying her curiosity.  Surely no one would fault her for taking an interest in someone who had saved so many of her warriors? It would be disrespectful to leave her, in pain and exhausted, after she had voluntarily offered aid.

The Commander rebuckled her sheath across her torso and exited the tent, catching the guards by surprise. They made move to trail after her, but she waved them off, making her way alone the short distance across the road to where the wagons sat. Lexa arrived just in time to watch Nyko cover the girl with a thick fur, tucking the edge up around her head and giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.  The girl had won over Nyko, that much was clear and it was no easy task to do so. 

Heda narrowed her eyes and stopped, glaring at Nyko’s retreating back as he returned to the healer tent. She had not expressly forbade him from having contact with the prisoner, but still did not appreciate his initiative.  He had taken several liberties today that normally would have earned him lashes or time to think in a cell of his own. She would send Titus to remind him of his place once they returned to Polis. It would not do to have anyone, even someone she trusted as much as Nyko, to think she had weakened. 

The girl looked up just then, spotting her through the flames and shivering, whether from cold or injury wasn't clear. Lexa watched the already tiny form shrink visibly back under the fur. The prisoner clearly had no desire to see her any more than she wanted to approach. What would she say if she did?  There was no plan behind this, no thought about what could be seen, said or overheard. It was spontaneous and unlike her.

The Commander stood conflicted before a flash of the firelight off of metal caught her attention just beyond the girl.  She somehow managed to keep her expression neutral, returning the harsh stare from the icy blue eyes of her nemesis.  Nia and two of her own guards stood almost casually, weapons drawn under the pretense of cleaning them, at the very edge of the firelight.  The Queen’s arms were crossed across her chest, her feet planted in that arrogant stance that Lexa knew so well, and hated so very much.  The message, given their positioning and the infuriating smirk that spread across the Azgeda leader’s face, was very clear.  

  
It appeared that Nyko was not the only one with an interest in the girl.   This changed things.  She would have to deal with the captive sooner than Polis.  She needed to know what stake Nia had in the girl’s well-being.  Just, not tonight.  Lifting her chin, she held Nia’s stare a moment longer before turning on her heel and returning to her tent.


	19. Introduction

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Completely unedited, and a little awkward, but I really wanted to just get this one posted. As always I value your comments for the little nuggets of sunshine that they are. Take a moment and let me know what you think, ask questions, argue...I appreciate it all.

It was early. Early enough that the last of the night's stars were still visible as faint pinholes of light against the rising pink of the dawn. Katja did her best to appear confident and calm, forcing her aching body to straighten against its wishes. Everything hurt, from the balls of her feet up to the crown of her head and her fever from the night previous had only now just broken, leaving a sheen of sweat across her brow. 

The Commander had summoned her unexpectedly, one Heda’s personal guards leading her by her leash to the command tent to once again face the the throne, though there was no sign of the Coalition leader as of yet.  At regular intervals around the walls of the enclosure stood the shadowed masses of the remaining guards on duty. She counted six.  

Katja swallowed back a wave of nausea. She had sapped her reserves yesterday with the wounded, not dangerously so, but enough that it would take her body a day or two to process the pain and injury that it had soothed. It wasn't an exact science, often depending on the emotional state of the person healed in concert with the severity of the injury to formulate how long and how awful her recovery would be. Regardless there was no place she would less rather be than in front of the Commander in her current state. It made her thoughts fuzzy and sluggish and her body vulnerable. 

The woman in question burst through the partitioning curtains at that moment, a determined scowl furrowing features that showed no sign of the early hour. The Commander was in full armor, with her characteristic black swath of war paint in place across her eyes.  Katja lowered hers, noting as she did so that Heda's grip on the hilt of the dagger at her belt was unnecessarily tight. The girl fought the mounting bile in her throat, her confusion at the Commander’s evident fury hidden behind the shielding curtain of her loose black curls. 

“Leave us.” Lexa's voice broke the silence as she stopped directly in front of the prisoner and inclined her chin towards the exit. Her guards obeyed without hesitation, though the looks on their faces ranged from concerned to affronted. She stood motionless as they filed out, clasping her hands behind her and squaring her shoulders. They had left the girl’s restraints in place, a thick double loop of rope encircling her slender waist and wrapping around to bind her hands together against the small of her back.  

Katja shifted her weight slightly on her aching feet as the Commander did nothing other than stare.  Everything with her captor, simple conversation included, seemed destined to be overly difficult. 

“Why did you offer your help?”  The focus in Lexa's gaze could have bored holes in granite.  She was in no mood for empty pleasantries.

“I am a healer Heda. And there were those that required healing.”

“Would that all of our purposes in life were so clear.”  The simplicity of the statement grated against Lexa’s already fraying nerves. She tightened her grip further on the dagger, determined not to let the girl’s bluntness fire her temper.

Katja, for her part, winced inwardly.  She had not meant for her response to sound so basic.  The Clans knew little about her, about the Path and her purpose and she knew that what would be painfully obvious to her own people could still be a somewhat alien concept here.  Still, while the oversimplification avoid misinterpretation, it carried an edge of condescension that was not meant.

“Why do you not look at me?”

“You are angry, Heda. And I do not understand why.” Katja chose a dose of honesty, her shoulders sloping forwards in tiredness. “I do not wish to provoke you further, unintentionally. It was not my intent for things to be...this way.” She flexed slowly against her bonds to illustrate her point. 

“Tell me then, what way it should have been, considering the capture of two spies on the edge of my army, both of them refusing to speak, and both armed with more weapons than the best of my warriors.”

“I would have spoken if you had asked me.”

“I thought I had.” Lexa arched a brow and began to circle the prisoner slowly. “I wasn't aware that politeness and courtesy were required in situations such as these.”

“No, I would have spoken if  _ you _ had asked me. Not with a knife against my throat in a crowded room or in response to the fists of the  _ Fleimkepa.”  _  Katja slid the mask in place and finally lifted her face to the Commander, who stopped briefly in front of her. “ _ You _ had only to ask. I would keep nothing from you.”

“Why?”

“You are the Commander. ”  She licked her chapped lips and shrugged lightly, as if that was answer enough. “Those people I helped last night, your people.  The life I chose to save in the forest, yours.  Though you seem eager to believe otherwise, I have nothing but your interests at heart, Heda.  If you had asked me why I was here, I would have told you that I have travelled a great distance to be of service, in whatever way I can be, to the Flame and to the Coalition.  I seek a lasting peace, and from what I have seen and heard, that peace lies with you.”

“How long have you been following me?”  Lexa managed to maintain her scowl, glaring into the soft green of the stranger’s eyes for a moment before she began to circle once again.  

“Since the day you arrived from Polis, Heda.”

“If your purpose is as you say, why not just announce yourself and get on with it? Why follow me in secret?”

“I had to be sure.” 

“Sure of…?”

“You.” 

“Me.”  The Commander stopped her pacing directly behind the girl, who remained utterly still. Katja heard Heda take first one, and then a second step closer.  The Commander’s next question was spoken quietly from a position very close to her ear, raising the small hairs along the back of her neck. "And are you?”

Katja turned her head toward the voice, making peripheral eye contact with the Commander who stood mere inches back from her right shoulder. She could feel the woman’s body heat flood the small gap of air between them and inhaled unsteadily.

“Are. You.”  Lexa separated the words as though she were talking to a simpleton.  She was close enough now to note the glisten of perspiration as well as the yellowing margins along the bruises of the girl's cheek and perhaps should have anticipated the answer before it came. 

“No, Heda.” Katja swallowed heavily and turned her eyes back to front. “I had hoped for a different reception.  I did not even have a chance to explain.  And now I am uncertain as to what you intend with me.  Uncertain that I have made the right choice. I thought perhaps if could show you, with the wounded, that I meant only to help, that your opinion of me would change, but quite the opposite it seems to have solidified whatever threat you see in me.”

“You are no threat to me.”  The Commander scoffed at the remark and stepped around to face the girl, staying close and straightening to use her small advantage in height to support her claim.  “Your arrogance is astounding.  My great saviour who was captured by a bunch of youngsters.”

“I-..” Katja bristled visibly, her hands curling into tight fists behind her back. “Captured?  Is that what you believe?”

“That is what I know.”  A flash of uncertainty crossed Heda’s face before she tilted her head quizzically to the side. “Unless you would care to challenge that.”

“Who do you think I am?” She watched the Commander’s nostrils flare at the audacity of the question.  She continued quickly before Lexa had the chance to speak.  “You do not even need to answer, for I can tell in the rumours that I hear in the camp and in the way you have been avoiding me since last we spoke.  Do you honestly believe, if that is true, that a group of eager, inexperienced scouts bravely stepped up and captured such a ‘threat’?”

It was a question that had been bothering Lexa since the moment the two prisoners had been marched into the tent.  They had been trailing the army for some time, had obvious skill with weaponry, and the girl was right, if she truly believed her to be a ‘ _ Kovakeryon _ , the idea that Mikael and his group could have so easily apprehended them was ludicrous, or extremely lucky.

“We had no way to easily make ourselves known.  The Mountain, the Fallen, it all became very complicated very quickly.”  A sigh of frustration forced it’s way unbidden from Katja’s lungs. “Riding unannounced into camp, given the circumstances, would have been a death sentence, and finding an opportunity to speak to a senior member of your Coalition proved impossible.  When we saw the scouting party we saw our way to you.  We disarmed and presented ourselves as plainly as we could, requesting an audience.”

“Why did you not defend yourself?  Then or when you were brought before me?”  Lexa did not need to hear the rest to know how the story had played out.  Mikael, though he had not lied, appeared to have sorely exaggerated his role. 

“Would you have believed me Heda?  If I had protested that day in front of the Council?  If I had said, oh no, we we surrendered willingly?”  Katja’s tone seeped bitterness, her gaze hardening as she pinned the taller girl with her accusation.  “We did nothing to deserve the treatment we have received at your hands.  We hurt no one, bore no weapons, and spoke no threats.  We put ourselves in the care of those scouts and your hospitality, but you would not have believed me then if I had said so.  In fact, I doubt if you believe me now.”

Lexa’s teeth ground audibly against one another.  Intuitively she knew the words to be true but the realization put her in an awkward position.  She hated feeling like she was on the defensive.  “Does the Azplana believe you?”

Katja’s body jerked as though she had been stabbed.  She dug her nails into the palms of her hands and used the discomfort to keep herself from looking away.  Of course Heda would know of Nia’s interest, she was the Commander.  The question was how closely the woman felt they were associated.

“Shall I take that as a yes?”  Lexa’s voice lowered into a growl, her hatred of the Azgeda queen evident. 

“Even if she did not truly Heda, she would use the idea of it to her advantage.”  Katja tread cautiously, keeping her tone neutral. “Our families have a long and rather contentious history, as I’m sure you are aware.”

“She certainly seems to have taken an interest in your well-being.”

“I think we both can agree that Nia cares nothing for my person Commander.  The only thing she cares about is how I can be of use to her.”  Against you.  Katja left the second half of the sentence unspoken.  “Refuge with Azgeda is no refuge.  Though I admit that I feared I would have no choice if you would not see me again.  I understood your reluctance.”

“If I…?”  Heda’s eyes narrowed, the black war paint adding another degree of ferocity to her scowl. “My reluctance?  Are you calling me a coward?”

“No!  No, Commander.  Not a coward.  There is no one to blame for this tension between us except myself.”  She shook her head and chewed at inside of her lip. “I have taken liberties I should not have.  Regardless of their intentions.  I..apologize.  It was stupid of me.”  Katja paused, trying to read the look on Lexa’s face and failing.  “I had no right.  I only wanted so very badly for you to see, when we were finally alone, that I meant no harm.  I am embarrassed that I achieved the opposite.”

Katja wondered if she had said too much.  Or too little.  Or too openly.  The silence stretched between them, Heda’s face impassive, controlled while Katja tried desperately not to fidget.  As the lull in conversation continued,her anxiety mounted, knowing that the was the best chance she was likely to have to sway the Commander’s opinion.  

“Then show me.”

Katja’s heart thumped nervously in her chest as Lexa moved behind her, the knuckles of the Commander’s fingers brushing softly against the inside of her wrists as the bonds were first loosened, and then removed.  She dropped her hands to her sides and waited.

“Show me the things you hide from others, from me.  What you showed Nyko.  Trust me and show me that these carefully considered word about your intentions are true.”  Lexa blinked rapidly as the girl raised a hand and rubbed at the raw patch of skin that had been chafed by the rope.  The blackness of her fingers was unnerving.  “But make no mistake, touch me again and I will gut you.”

“Sha, Heda.”  Katja lowered her hands and turned around to stare steadily at the Commander.   What reaction there would be was difficult to predict, but given that the opportunity had presented itself, she knew she would be foolish to pass up the chance.  She needed Heda to trust her, to free her, and despite the risk, she knew that could only happen by showing who she truly was.  Slowly, layer by layer, she relaxed her concentration, exhaling in honest relief as common green of her eyes faded into the glittering emerald of their natural state.  She kept herself focused on Lexa’s face, watching for signs of reaction, either positive or negative, before finally blinking and releasing the last of the illusion to allow the blazing flecks of lighter green to return.

The Commander, despite herself, took a small step back and unsheathed her dagger.  She had only seen a brief flicker of it when first they met but it did nothing to prepare her for the full weight it held.  The impact pushed the breath from her lungs.

Katja remained still.  Heda’s face was a mixture of fear and curiosity and so she let those emotions war in silence.  It felt....good, to finally drop the pretense and to be able to direct her concentration fully outward.  To study the Commander as thoroughly as she herself was being appraised.  The gawking was without a doubt uncomfortable but she tried to put herself in the other’s shoes.   She knew that it would take time for the Clans to get used to her appearance.  She was far from commonplace, far from home, and far from the realm of the everyday for these people.

“Why do you hide behind a mask?” Lexa finally found her voice, though it sounded small and hushed to her own ears.  

“Why do you?”  A wry smile snuck onto the girl’s face for a moment.  She caught a fleeting look of surprise on Heda’s face.  “It keeps me safe. As does yours for you.  I do not know what kind of bravery or stupidity you think I possess Commander but again, if I had ridden boldly into camp, dressed strangely, spouting fairy tales and looking like this, “ she gestured at herself, “we both know I would have been cut down before I got anywhere near this throne room.  I am no god Heda, I bleed as you do, I fear as you do.  I am not omnipotent.  Sometimes caution is the only route.  There are others here in your company that would be extremely interested in my existence, though not for reasons I care to consider.”

“Nia.”  It was a statement, not a question, and was quickly confirmed with a nod from the girl.  Lexa found herself unable, and unwilling, to break the gaze, understanding why Nyko was so uncharacteristically flustered when she had questioned him about the prisoner.  It was, as Titus had described from the texts, like staring into the flames of Fate itself.  The lighter flecks danced even in the dim lighting of the tent, burning from within with an energy that was consuming. Coupled with the rolling tones of the girl’s voice, that unique pacing and pattern of emphasis that Lexa still could not pin down, the effect approached hypnotic.

“Either my service to, or death at the hands of the Azplana would grant her such standing, particularly with the Clans still familiar with the old stories, to perhaps give her the backing needed to challenge you.  She has tried diplomacy and leveraging my position as your captive, but, as I hope you can see, she has failed.  Now, if she sees that I put my faith in you,  she will not hesitate to kill me when the timing is convenient, the end result will be the same.”

“You risk that I do not believe you are what or who you say.  Were I to denounce you, you would lack the support of both the command and the Ice Nation.”

“Which is why I have kept quiet Heda.  I feared that isolation, but I have had plenty of time to think and I have realized it doesn’t matter what either you or the Azplana believe, I’m afraid.  It matters only what the people believe.  More wars have been won, or lost, under false pretense than not.”  Katja shrugged and sighed quietly. “I knew this before I came here.  I also knew that you too could adopt the same strategy as Nia...”

“And kill you for your power?”

“The perception of it yes.  The tales of her grandfather and the Purges have set an unfortunate precedent.  My kind are quite the trophy, alive or dead.  Better dead in the opinion of Azgeda, easier to control that way.”  She chuckled darkly and arched a brow questioningly at the Commander. “Hopefully better alive in your opinion Heda.”

"What are you?" Lexa tired of tiptoeing around the unspoken question.  It was as though the word itself was somehow taboo.  Even Titus danced and circled around it as they spoke and despite all of the conversation just now, not once had it been uttered.  To hear it, especially from the mouth of the person in question, would somehow make it more real.

  
“Perhaps we could start with something simpler.”  Katja bowed her head respectfully, clasping her hands in front of her. “My name is Katja.”


	20. Show & Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lexa's determined to crack the mystery of the strangers before Nia can get her icy Azgeda claws into them. She gets a little more than she bargained for. Also, Titus is Titus.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bueller?

“My name is Katja.”

Lexa found herself staring at the top of the girl’s bowed head, the mop of dark waves clumping together in greasy, unkempt masses.  _ KAT-ya _ . Two syllables offered in truce, extended as an olive branch for her to reach out and accept if she so chose.  To do that was to do so much more than simply acknowledge a name. 

“That is not what I asked you.”  She knew the girl was watching her, waiting, and could see the tension across her thin shoulders.  She was a long way off from trusting this stranger, whose flattering words and potent charisma were as dangerous as the tip of any sword. The name trailed in her ears like a lure, taunting her curiosity with the prospect of further conversation.  It humanized her captive, shifting her from the safe inanimateness of a thing into the warm flesh and blood of a person. Lexa was sorely tempted but she knew that now was not the time to soften. These interactions must happen on  _ her _ terms. If the stubborn mule refused to answer her questions, it was no matter. She always planned for difficulty. “Gustus!” Bring him in.”

The sudden command startled Katja, who wavered briefly, glancing quickly at the Commander before turning to discover the source of the commotion at the entrance. A choked gasp parted her lips as three large guards dragged a battered form into the tent, throwing him roughly to the dirt floor.   She took a frantic step forward only to find two of Lexa's guards’ blades digging into the flesh at her neck and ribs. 

“You will show me and in exchange I will allow you to heal him.”  Heda’s voice sounded behind her,cold, hard and leaving little room for argument. “You will do as I say, when I say, and should you stray from that, you will watch him die.”

Katja only half listened to the Commander’s threat, she was already trying to assess Lewan’s condition from where she stood.   She was still weak from the night before, and to attempt more at this point was unwise but she couldn't bear to see him like this.  His left eye was swollen completely shut, bulging out from him face amidst a reddish-purple bruise. His nose was broken, crooked, and bloodied and she could barely look at his beard, encrusted as it was with all manner of filth. She nodded her agreement. 

“You will slowly approach, and you will kneel.  You will not touch him.”  Lexa waited for a second nod. “ _ Breik em au.”  _

As the blades fell away from her body it took all of her self-control to keep from crossing the distance between herself and her  _ kepa  _ as quickly as possible. She had no doubt that Lexa would follow through on her promise and so one cautious step after another she closed the gap and lowered herself slowly to her knees. He looked even worse close up, with the ragged hitch of his breathing the only sign that he was still alive. What had they done to him? Why had they been so cruel?

Lexa's boots thumped dully against the earthen floor.  To Katja this waiting felt like an eternity and she cursed the Commander’s lack of urgency. To her surprise, she looked up from Lewan's crumpled body to see Heda kneeling across from her, the intensity in those green-grey eyes sending a small shiver up her spine.  

“Move slowly. Explain what you are doing.” Heda nodded in greeting to Nyko, who now joined the group, crouching in silence beside Lexa. The Clan healer smiled reassuringly, careful to do so outside of the Commander’s field of vision.  She dared not acknowledge it though his presence there made her less edgy. 

“I need to see his injuries Heda, in order to know what course to take.”  She reached forward, fumbling slightly with the closures on Lewan's coat. She was nervous, not that she would fail, but that some small perceived offence would cost her friend his life. 

The front of the jacket parted and she curled her fingers under the bottom edge of his layered shirts, lifting them to get a look at his torso. Her teeth snapped together as she took in the angry welts and bruises that peppered almost every inch of skin. There was no blood, they had been careful not to break the skin, but had inflicted so much damage that she was much more concerned with what lay beneath the surface.  Furious, she lifted her gaze to the Commander’s, not bothering to veil the disgust that burned in her eyes. 

Lexa felt Nyko steady himself beside her and she herself curled her toes within her boots, and old trick she had used since she was a child to avoid showing unwanted emotion. The force of the anger levelled at her with that look was almost palpable, the black of the prisoner’s pupils engulfed by the raging fire of their surrounding irises, intense and unforgiving. She collected herself quickly, raising her chin and gesturing at the injured man. “Proceed.”

Katja hesitated, battling the curdling sensation in her stomach that returned at the thought of having to heal after so short a recovery. She focused on Lewan's face, bruised and battered but still recognizable as the man who had taught her to ride, to hunt, to centre herself in the moment and to never overextend herself out of sentimentality. If the Commander was not forcing it would she go through with this? She could almost see the exasperation on his face as a small voice in the back of her mind answered ‘of course’.  She reached out towards him, only to feel the flat part of a blade smack her hands aside.  Katja stared up incredulously at the one named Gustus, whose lips had curled in a smug smile.

“Did I not say,” Heda sounded almost bored, save for the steely note that carried her words, “that you were to explain what you were doing?”

“Sha, Heda.” Katja ground the acknowledgement out between clenched teeth. “Moba. I will do better.” She sat back on her heels and placed her hands palms up against her thighs. “He is in pain.  Before I do anything else I would like to relieve some of it, with your permission.” She dipped her head almost mockingly at the Commander. 

“And how do you intend to do that? You have asked for no supplies, no tonics.”

It was a leading question and Katja knew it. Rather than answer she held her hands up, watching Gustus closely as she reached forward once more.  There was no refusal this time and she settled her palms against Lewan's temples, readying herself for what was to come. Her eyelids slid closed, blocking out her audience and allowing her to focus on slowly, cautiously relaxing her guard.  The pain hit not sharply, but rather seeped, like a slowly rising tide, into her system, until every nerve burned with a dull ache. She fought to catch her breath. Vaguely, as if from a distance, she heard Heda's voice.

“What are you doing?”

“It. Takes. Time.” She forced each word out between inhalations, knowing that if she did not answer that she would be interrupted by more than mere questions. “And concentration.”  A shudder went through her as she sought to suppress her companion’s discomfort, equalizing it between the two of them.  Normally she would do more but she was conscientious of the fact that her energy today was finite. 

As Lexa watched, she saw the man’s jaw slacken, his breathing smoothing out in opposition to the rigidity of the girl’s posture. He looked, if not at peace, then at least far more comfortable than when he had been brought in. Nyko caught her eye and his furrowed brow and awed expression spoke volumes. Neither of them had any idea what was happening. There was no outward sign of anything miraculous, no glowing light or muttered chant, simply the gentle pressure of the girl's hands against the man's skull.

Katja shifted her purpose, moving past the pain into the damage caused by nearly a week’s worth of beatings.  Two ribs broken, one cracked, bruising but no damage to vital organs. One shoulder was wrenched almost out of its socket, the twisted muscles pinching nerves up through his neck.  It was nothing terribly severe, but she was already exhausted. It would be a delicate balance to mend the worst of it without putting herself at the mercy of the Commander.  She was fairly certain that such a thing didn't exist.  

“He has broken ribs.  The bone must knit properly to speed his recovery.” Sliding her hands down to Lewan's sides she flexed her fingers against his skin, feeling the heat of his fever begin to mingle with the return of her own.  Katja took a deep breath as she felt the energy shift from her palms to the wounded  _ Kepa.  _

“How do you know this? How will you knit them?” Lexa watched the captive’s slender fingers, their blackness outlining them severely against the paler skin beneath. It bothered her that she had no cue, visual or otherwise, to understand the process. When Katja didn't answer, she was more uneasy than angry.  “Look at me!”

The order pierced Katja's thoughts like an arrow, distracting her enough to send an arc of pain shooting through her right side.  She leaned slightly in that direction, squeezing her elbow against her own ribs to fend it off.  Damn it.  Katja shook her head in response to the Commander, unable to speak.

“NOW.”

It was the voice of a woman used to being obeyed.  Katja once again shook her head, her eyes closed tightly as she tried to reestablish her mental balance. Immediately she heard the tip of Gustus’ sword scrape up from the floor, no doubt readying to stop her entirely.  With an exasperated growl, she wasted both time and precious energy forcing her eyes open, blinking uncomfortably in the light. The Commander wanted to see? Fine. She would see. 

Lexa sucked a breath in through her teeth, the sound accompanied by a surprised grunt from Nyko.  Invasive tendrils of pure white wormed their way into Katja's iris, devouring the green flame and giving her a ghostly, unearthly appearance.  Heda saw the pain in them, raw and untempered and it hit her like a punch to the gut.  Something else flickered there as their eyes met, something shy and self conscious, though Lexa quickly dismissed it as her imagination. 

“Broken. Nose.” Keeping her eyes open was proving more difficult than she anticipated.   She finished with Lewan’s ribs and the surrounding tissue and settled her fingertips on either side of the bridge of his nose.  She was going too quickly, she knew it, but she also keenly felt the pressure of the situation. She wasn't used to performing on command, particularly for people who would be just as happy to watch her fail. 

A dull click sounded as she realigned the bones of the priest's nose and cheek, pausing to kickstart the healing process, and heartened to feel the swelling begin to reduce. Beads of perspiration broke out across her face, trickling aimlessly down the slope of her nose to drip onto the material of her pants. Slow down.  She could hear Lewan's stern voice in her head.

You need to slow down.

Katja drew several exaggerated, steadying breaths and blinked deliberately to clear her mind. Rather than look at the Commander she shifted to Nyko, seeking stability and instead watching as his features twisted in alarm. Reaching around onto his pack for his canteen, he unscrewed the lid quickly and held it out towards her, only to have it swiped from his grip by Heda. This liquid sloshed uselessly all over the  _ fisa’s  _ clothing and puddled on the ground by the spout of the container.

“Mind your place Nyko.” Lexa's tone was like ice as she turned briefly towards him. “Or I will have you removed.”  

“Heda, I…”

“Enough Nyko. Do not press your luck.  You are here because you have seen this done, do not mistake your necessity for privilege.” The Commander’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Now you, continue. Eyes here.”

Katja could feel herself slipping. The Veil was nearly complete, with only the barest hints of emerald left and even her pupils coated by a milky white layer.  The edges of her vision began to blur and she knew that if she did not finish her task quickly, she would lack the reserve to do so. 

She met Heda's stare and noted, with no small amount of satisfaction, how the woman shrank back ever so slightly, eyes widening.  Let her see.  Katja's hands curled protectively around Lewan's shoulder. The bruising and inflammation were not dangerous in their own right, and would fade without her intervention, so she largely ignored them. Connective tissue, muscle, and tendon, some partially torn, came back together as she applied pressure to the top of the joint and rolled it carefully forward, locking it back into place. 

“A-Amin…?” Lewan's eyelids fluttered just then, a wince creasing his features as he tried to focus.  Gustus tightened his grip on his weapon, earning him a dangerous look of warning from Katja. 

“ _ Sha, en’s ai Lewan. Ai’s hir _ .”

“Amin.”

She turned away so that he could not see her face, knowing that her eyes would instantly give away her recklessness.  It may have been for his own benefit but she knew he would chide her all the more because of it.

“Amin, you must...Heda does not understand.”  His fever made him delirious, oblivious to his surroundings other than the familiar shape of his charge kneeling quietly beside him. “You are in danger. We were wrong. Very…” he cried out as he tried to move, “wrong.  You must run.”

“Shhh,  _ ai lukot. _ Heda is wise, she will see truth.” Katja looked meaningfully at Lexa. “She needs time. We must have patience.” She loosened her grip on his shoulder and clenched her jaw, guiding him back towards the peace of unconsciousness.  The Commander regarded her with a look she couldn't interpret and she held it as the priest’s eyes once again closed, his breathing rhythmic and easy.  The same could not be said of herself.  She struggled to appear in control.  She needed to get out of here. It didn't matter where.  Even the back of that cursed wagon would be preferable to this room. She could not fall apart in front of Heda, she needed desperately to rest. 

Lexa opened her her mouth as if to say something and then quickly shut it. Despite her command of the proceedings she felt a flush of guilt at having witnessed something she suddenly felt she should not have. She knew the girl was likely only soothing her injured friend, saying those things, but the continued faith and tenderness in the face of harshness and brutality made Lexa cringe. 

“How?”  The Commander’s hand hovered over Lewan's good shoulder. “You were to explain, and yet I know little more than when this started.”

“I know, Heda and for that I apologize. There is not much that can be seen.” The pure white of her eyes shifted, a tiny curl of black looping in from the corners.  _ No. _  No no no.  Katja fought it, balling her hands into tight fists and forcing the twinge of panic away.  She could feel the breath rattling now in her lungs.   

“Then how can I be expected to believe you?”  The girl was in obvious agony.  Lexa shut out an unwelcome urge to comfort her. 

“Some say the eyes are the least trustworthy of all the senses, Heda.” She need to leave.  She needed to get as far from this Commander as she could until she was in better control of her faculties. But more than that, and overriding every ounce of self-preservation she could muster, she needed Heda to ‘see’.

Lexa arched a brow in surprise as the prisoner extended her arm over the now softly snoring Lewan, palm upturned in invitation.  The last time the girl had touched her was still burned vividly in her memory.  Heda's hand twitched involuntarily. 

“Please Heda, I will show you. Nothing more, I swear it.”

“Witchcraft!” Before Lexa could consider, Titus burst into the tent, his black robes flowing about him angrily. “Sorcery!!  Heda move away, do not allow her to put you under her spell!” His momentum carried him forward at a furious pace, a booted foot coming up to plant itself against Katja's chest and propelled her backwards. She rolled awkwardly, coming to rest face down several feet from the group. 

“Titus!”  Lexa saw Katja get an arm under herself and tried to push herself up, only to sink back to the dirt with a low moan. The  _ Fleimkepa’s _ dramatic entrance had stunned everyone, the Commander being the first to recover. 

“Heda, thank the gods I arrived in time.” Titus bowed his head excitedly, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins. “I heard she had been brought to you and feared I would be too late to stop her.” He rested a foot on the back of Katja's neck. There was no struggle.

“Please  _ Fleimkepa, _ she is injured..” Nyko started towards Katja only to be pinned by the lanky man’s wrathful glare. 

“Has she corrupted you already  _ fisa?  _ Would you care for her over the safety of your own Heda??” Titus’ eyes had a zealous flash to them that dared Nyko to challenge him further.

“Commander this has to stop.” The pleading in Nyko’s voice was replaced by distaste. But when he turned to speak to her, he caught only the back of her, surrounded by with her guards and exiting the command tent. “Commander!”

She ignored him and strode out of the tent towards her private quarters. Lexa thoughts were jumbled. For the first time in her command she didn't know who to listen to, who to trust. The Flame was silent. She didn't trust her own judgement at the moment.  She had taken the path of the coward and fled.   Dismissing her guards before she even crossed the threshold, she replayed the last few moments before everything came to a screeching halt, throwing herself down onto her bed in frustration.

_ Please Heda, I will show you.  _  And oh how badly Lexa had wanted to see.

 

* * *

 

**_Breik em au._ ** _ \-  _  Release her.

**_Sha, en’s ai Lewan. Ai’s hir_** **.** - Yes, it’s me Lewan, I’m here.

**_Ai lukot_ ** \- my friend


	21. The Krones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katja indulges in some wallowing. The Commander and the Fleimkepa bring in three lore keepers to help determine their captive's identity.

The sounds and smells of Polis reached even the prisoners where they lay, ignobly bound like a pair of prized catches, in the back of the supply wagons. Slowly, the silence of the forest gave way to voices and animals and movement. Katja could see nothing, but the potent aromas of cooking fires and cow shit were as recognizable as any visual. The din increased with every mile until the column of soldiers had paused briefly before a massive set of gates, which creaked open to allow them entry to the city proper. 

Craning her neck in an attempt to see only sent twinges of pain radiating throughout her upper body. Last night had ended as badly as Katja could have imagined.  Following Lexa's departure, Titus had taken control, seeing to it that she and Lewan were separated and that both quickly forgot whatever small measure of freedom they had been granted in the command tent. On again went the rough ropes, tighter this time, cutting into the skin at her wrists.  They were sent immediately to the wagons, where they had remained through the rest of the early morning, for the entirety of the march, and now as they arrived in the Clan capitol. 

_ “Gyon up Heda!” _

Katja heard the cry flow like a wave through the surrounding crowd, building and strengthening with each repetition until it was like a roar.  It was near impossible to distinguish individual voices in the mix as the people of Polis welcomed their Commander home en masse.

_ “Gyon up Heda!” _

The enthusiasm sounded genuine, not forced by fear or obligation. The respect these people had for their leader was evident as the ardent cries followed the procession through the city.  Katja struggled to have similarly optimistic feelings. The more interaction she had with Heda, the less she felt able to read her. Now that they were in Polis, the seat of the Commander’s power, she felt dependent of the whims of an aggravatingly puzzling woman who did not seem decided as to her captives’ fates. 

After a quarter hour, the wagon lurched to a halt after passing under another, thicker gate.  There was a flurry of activity around her and then silence.  Silence for so long that she thought her jailers had forgotten about her entirely.  Just when she had resigned herself to spending more time in her wooden prison, the unfortunately familiar face of Ogden appeared beside her as he hefted himself up into the wagon.  The grin on his face didn’t bode well for what was to come next.

A thick black hood was pulled forcibly down over her head and secured around her neck.  Katja fought the panicked feeling of suffocation that hit when her first breath managed to pull only a small amount of air through the fabric.  Her hands were untied from their bolts, but quickly rebound behind her back before she was yanked unceremoniously from the wagon and set down on the ground.  The movement was fast and disorienting and that, combined with the fact that she was still early in recovery after the demonstration this morning, dropped her to her knees. 

“Get up.”  Ogden’s gravelly voice and booted foot prodded her.  Her stomach heaved and she was suddenly glad that she had not been regularly fed, as the spasms producing nothing other than a dry cough.  The boot connected again, harder this time, and she struggled briefly to her feet before the dizziness struck her down once more.  Her captor’s sigh was exaggerated as he grabbed her by the collar and half-dragged, half-carried her forward.  She heard a door open and then shut with the distinctive click of a bolted lock and assumed they were now inside.  The rough hewn stone of the walls and floor picked at her shins and knees but Ogden kept up the pace, not allowing her to get her feet up under herself to walk.

They continued for some time, the air getting noticeably cooler and the stench noticeably stronger the further they went.  There was little doubt, even to a hooded captive, of where they now were.  A key turned noisily in a lock and the angry creak of the door’s hinges echoed loudly into the surroundings.  In a surprisingly smooth motion, the hood was removed from her head and she was shoved forward, propelled into the darkness of the cell with enough force to send her slamming into the wall.  She heard Ogden’s chuckles fade back down the hallway after the cell door was closed with an ominous clang.  It was so dark she should see little in her cell, which may have been a blessing judging by the smell that assaulted her nostrils.  The hallway was slightly lighter and she could just make out a similar grate of metal bars across the way.  There was little she could do but wait.

\--------

It was hard to say how long she’d been there.  At first she tried to keep count of the hours through the shift changes of the guards but quickly lost track between competing bouts of fitful sleep and nausea.  Food came irregularly, and was eaten even less so, the grey lumpy mass that her captors tried to pass off as edible smelled of rotted vegetables and something unnameable but putrid.  There was no light other than the torches that the patrols used to ensure that their caged subjects were still breathing, though their checks were infrequent.  She instead tried to measure time in terms of her recovery, as the migraines faded and the Veil slowly lifted, returning her to some semblance of normality.  Given how far she had pushed it, how little she had eaten and drank, and the poor quality of sleep she managed in this fetid hell hole, her best guess was that she had been confined to this stinking cell for just over a week.

At first she had tried calling for Lewan, hoping that he was still conscious and perhaps more coherent but heard nothing in response.  She refused to think the worst, instead choosing to believe he was simply being held somewhere out of earshot.  His delirious warnings in the early morning about the Commander repeated themselves on a loop in her head.  They had made a mistake.  Heda did not understand.  They needed to run.  They had made a mistake.  Over and over and over to the point that she allowed them to become truth, tears of frustration streaking their way through the dirt on her cheeks and falling ignored to the floor.  What had she been thinking?  What kind of foolish, egotistical crusade had she dragged poor Lewan along on?  They would both die here, she saw that now, the victim of her own impetuous naivete.  Katja drew her knees up under her chin, turning to lay her cheek against them and peer uselessly into the darkness.

Her eyes snapped open as the grating sound of a metal tray scraped its way across the floor.  She’d fallen asleep.  For how long?  Didn’t matter.  Nothing did.  Katja eyed the tray placed at the bars with contempt, her stomach churning with the thought of eating another bite of the off-coloured gruel.  A guard belched off in the distance, the guttural rumble reverberating down the hallway to the congratulatory cheer of his shiftmate.  She sighed and crawled on all fours to inspect today’s woeful offerings.

It was the smell that hit her first.  Warm, familiar, and cutting through the surrounding filth like an aromatic beacon.  Beef.  She scrambled faster, ignoring the bruises on her knees in her excitement.  Not just beef.  Turnip.  Carrot.  And a gravy so heavenly that she scooped up the hot bowl in both hands and all etiquette aside, rammed her face right into the gloriously savoury liquid.  Reluctantly she paused to breathe, lowering the bowl and scanning the other contents of the tray.  A biscuit, with no visible mold.  A flask of water, cool and clean.  And a note, scribbled on proper paper in a beautiful, controlled hand.

 

_ Yongon -- _

_ Kom koma en spek daun. _

 

Katja choked on a chunk of meat and dropped the bowl, the few remaining bits of stew spraying wildly across the tray.  The note was unsigned, but there was no doubt of its author. Nia.  She could hear the words in the venomously smooth voice of the Azplana…. _ yongon _ . She grit her teeth and stared at the biscuit and the water.  The stubborn part of her wanted to boot them both between the bars of the cell, removing them from temptation and refusing to rely on the goodwill of Azgeda for her comfort.  The practical side of her knew that the small hunk of bread and the flask would keep her going for a few more days.  

At least Nia pretended to care, Katja thought miserably, even if it was for her own eventual gain.  Again the Ice Nation queen came through while the Commander continued to punish her out of what she could only assume was fear. What had Nia said during that visit in the woods?  The Commander would suffer no challenges to her authority.  It appeared that Nia spoke true.  It left Katja in a very awkward bind.  If Heda really did intend to leave her here to rot, what option did she have but to reach out to Azgeda, who had been nothing but honourable up to this point.  It just felt so wrong.  

Katja wanted more than anything for these overtures to be coming from the Commander.  She had seen brief moments of breakthrough, where those stunning grey-green eyes seemed open and curious before they slammed shut either with prompting from the Fleimkepa or the whirling thoughts of Heda’s own mind.  She could not pierce the shield of suspicion and mistrust that the girl had built around her, and worse still, had little opportunity to try.  The Commander outright avoided her. 

With a sigh, she poured a drop of the water into the dirt and mixed it with her finger.  Flipping the note over to the blank side she dabbed her fingernail into the resulting mud and using it’s chipped, broken edge, scratched the word “ _ mochof” _ into the paper.  When the guard returned later on and removed the tray she saw his bushy brows shoot up in surprise. He thrust the torch towards the bars and glanced briefly at her, catching her nod of confirmation before moving away

Another couple of days passed, and every meal arrived with at least a mug of clean water.  Her return message had clearly been delivered.  She was now mired in the opening rounds of negotiation with Azgeda, though not by choice.  How Nia would get her out of the Commander’s watchful eye and remove her safely from Polis remained to be seen but Katja felt at this point that even a slightly delayed death at the hands of an old enemy was preferable to dying of malnutrition and neglect.

That small shard of hope snapped her out of her self-pity.  She paced the narrow confines of her cell for exercise, practiced weapon forms with invisible swords, and tried, though in vain, to contact either her ravens or the great cat that had quietly followed their progress through the forest.  She could feel nothing from them, see nothing from them, even those lines of communication had been severed by incarceration.  Still though, it kept her mind active and able to focus and so she continued to try daily. It was better than wallowing. 

\----------

The sound of a key turning in the lock to her door interrupted the first decent sleep she’d had since she arrived, a discontented grumble escaping her lips before she was awake enough to consider what it meant.  On went the rope, followed by the hood, and once again she was dragged forward, blind and groggy. 

Katja kept her mouth shut en route, knowing that she would get little more than a grunt from her handler.  What fresh hell the Commander had planned for her would be revealed soon enough and so she chose blissful ignorance for as long as it could be maintained.  They halted, and she felt the floor move disconcertingly beneath her feet.  It jerked and rattled as though it were alive and Katja had the sense that they were slowly ascending before coming to a stop with a thump.

After a short walk, she heard doors open, large and double if her ears held true.  She picked up a muffled gasp from somewhere in front of her and the shuffling of several pairs of feet.  Wherever she was, she had an audience, and so she did her best to straighten her posture into something approaching confidence.  There was a discussion of some sorts, and although she could not hear every word, she was able to pick out a couple here or there, spoken by at least two female voices.

“...very unwise…”

“..not the way to treat…”

“Silence.”   Katja’s lip curled into a sneer at the sound of the Fleimkepa’s order.  His tone oozed arrogance.  “You have been brought here to trial the prisoner, not to question.  Do not forget your purpose.”  A murmur of apology followed.

“Please then, allow us to see.”   A single voice sounded, soft and cracked with age.  The Fleimkepa must have nodded his agreement because a presence behind her unfastened the hood and pulled it quickly from her head.  Katja had little time to slide her mask in place before the artificial light in the room jabbed at her dungeon-weary eyes.

The throne room in Polis.  She had read about the great tower in the capital, with the throne of antlers and burnished wood, but to see it in person was something quite different.  Her eyes flitted from wrought iron decoration to fluttering curtain, trying to take in the new sights and surroundings all at once.  It was a fascinating mix of textures, some hard and cold, other velveteen and inviting.  The room was opulent, but not distastefully so, designed to reflect the prestige and power of the incumbent Commander without being garish or overdone.  

A throat cleared, sounding somewhat amused, and Katja’s gaze locked immediately on the Commander’s.  The challenge behind the other girl’s stare fired Katja’s anger, though underneath she thought she saw another, equally infuriating emotion: pity.  She struggled to keep her temper in check.  To the right of Heda stood Titus, looking imperious and threatening, all robed in black.  He did nothing to hide his contempt for her and his impatience for the proceedings.

With a wave of her hand, Heda motioned her company forward.  They were old - incredibly old.  All three were women, hunched and tottering, with long white hair looped into thick braids falling nearly to their waists.  One supported her weight with the help of a cane, her gnarled knuckles large and inflamed upon the curve of the handle.  The eyes of the second she could barely make out amongst the deep folds and wrinkles that creased the woman’s face.  And the third appeared the least affected by age, with sharp, intelligent blue eyes and an aquiline nose that gave her a sense of regalness.

They approached slowly and cautiously and as much as Katja wanted to take a step back, she could feel the solid bulk of her guard’s armored chest behind her so she remained in place, lifting her chin in challenge.  The third woman reached her first, pausing briefly before reaching up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.  Her touch was exceedingly gentle, and Katja fought the urge to lean into the softness of her fingers.  It was the first normal human contact that she’d had in weeks and it was incredibly soothing.

“The eyes are not right Heda, Fleimkepa.”  The woman spoke, gesturing calmly at Katja’s face.  “She cannot be.”

The Fleimkepa came forward, a muscle along his jaw jumping in irritation.  “Show her.  Make no mistake girl, this woman’s opinion means your life.”  When nothing happened, Titus grasped his captive’s chin and shook it roughly.  To Katja’s surprise, the motion was halted by the first old woman, who dared lay a hand on his forearm.  He turned to snarl, but the look of quiet force on the woman’s face froze the anger in its tracks and he instead took a step back. “What is it you need of see to be sure?”

“Three signs Fleimkepa. The eyes, which she lacks, the  _ natshana _ markings, and the gift, whichever it may be.” 

“If she chooses to continue this little charade then let us move on to the next of your ‘signs.  You,”  he motioned to Farrah, one of Heda’s personal guards who stood just behind the prisoner, “remove the tunic, show the marks.” 

Swiftly, so as to minimize opposition, Farrah grabbed the neck of Katja’s top and pulled her dagger downward through the material.  Two swift cuts and a strong tug later and the garment fell in shreds to the floor.

Now naked from the waist up, save for the thin strip of bindings across her chest, Katja blinked rapidly, feeling the colour flood her cheeks in humiliation.  Titus looked smug, crossing his arms over one another and.watching the shame settle over girl’s features.

“Heda, that was completely unnecessary…” one of the elderly women started to protest, but Lexa only shifted on her feet, uncomfortable.   For the time being she was willing to allow Titus the floor.

_ “Beja, Amin… _ ” the blue-eyed one pleaded quietly, turning back with a look of strong displeasure sweeping her features as she took in the full extent of Katja’s mistreatment. “We mean you no harm.  Heda has asked us here to confirm your--”

“You owe her no explanation, krone.”  The Fleimkepa interjected, only to have all three woman wheel around to face him.

“With all due respect, you have brought us to Polis because of our knowledge, and because of our position within our respective clans.   We do this out of loyalty to Heda and to the Coalition that she has formed.  If this girl is as you suspect than you risk much by this continued maltreatment.  It is shameful and an embarrassment.  You do not have to agree with our methods, or our words, but you  _ will _ respect our authority on this matter.”  

Katja felt her jaw go slack and waited for the retaliation that never came.  The Fleimkepa merely stood there, clenched fists against his sides, and granted a barely perceptible nod.  Titus backing down from a fight, particularly where his authority was concerned, was a rarity.  All three sets of wizened eyes swivelled back to Katja, who swallowed nervously.  

“Perhaps….introductions?”  The youngest appeared to be the spokesperson for the group, and arched an eyebrow in question.  “I am Kora kom Floukru.” She closed her right hand, crossing her arm over her body so that the fist rested above her heart. “And this is Niah kom Ouskejon Kru” the wrinkly one repeated the gesture, “and Yuna kom Trishanakru”.  The woman with the cane crossed her free arm over her chest and bowed her head slightly.

Niah shuffled closer, her vision still acute despite the layers of creases that threatened to engulf her face.  She was staring intently at Katja’s shoulder, tracing the faintly gleaming pattern of the golden spiral with her rheumy eyes.

“We are here to verify your identity for Heda.  We were born near the end of The Purges, and our advanced age has granted us insight into the  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ that few left possess.”  Kora allowed herself a chuckle, continuing in spite of Niah’s examination.   “We are the lore keepers for our Clans, or as many choose to label us, the Krones.”

“There is no need to hide from us, Amin,” the one named Yuna stepped forward. “We honor the Old Ways.  Your arrival is most welcome to us.”

Katja shot the woman a look that very clearly said they weren’t the one she was concerned about.  Titus, missing nothing, jerked his chin at the guard, who yanked Katja’s head back by her hair.  The wrinkly one gasped, mirroring the disgust on the others’ faces.  All three took in the deep purple circles around the girl’s eyes, dark from chronic fatigue, as well as the layers of grime that though thick, couldn’t completely hide the paleness of the skin beneath.  Katja imagined she looked quite like a corpse at this point, judging by their reactions.  Even Heda had seemed momentarily startled.

“Release her you heathenous wretch!”  Yuna swung at the guard with her cane, rapping her hard on the shins and eliciting a pained yelp as Farrah lost her grip on Katja and hopped backwards. The feisty senior swung again, backing the guard further back from the shivering girl.  

“The marks Kora.  Look.”  It was as though several separate conversations were going on at once as Niah pointed to one of the ravens along her collarbone.   Kora kept her eyes with Katja’s, trying desperately to reassure her as best she could as to the trio’s intentions.  The girl looked panicked.  It was a three ring circus with a very reluctant main attraction.

“Enough!”  The Fleimkepa’s voice rose once again above the din and immediately all activity stopped. “Enough.  I too have seen the markings, and while they are quite unique, the texts speak of them glowing like fireflies.  This they do not do.  Are they  _ natshana ink _ or are they not?”

“The secret to the ink,” Niah began, following the swirling lines, “is the  _ natshana _ itself.”

“They glow only in moonlight.”  Kora clarified for her distracted companion, narrowing her eyes at the  _ kepa _ .  “They require direct exposure.”

Titus stalked over to a set of doors to the right of the throne, unlatching the locks and throwing them open to reveal the night’s sky, still vaguely light at the horizon.  “Then let us expose them.”

Katja knew there would be no hiding.  Once the moonlight hit the tattoos there would be no denying, and no pretending.  The cold bite of the late autumn air raised goosebumps along her arms as she backed away, crossing her arms over her chest in a vain effort to cover herself.  This was not how this was supposed to go.  This was not how she had envisioned her triumphant return to the Council, with the respect and trust of a noble, empathetic Commander.  No, this was a mistake.  Glancing furtively around for something, someone, even Nia, to help her, her back hit the front of Gustus, who had stationed himself by the huge double doors in case of just such an occasion.  His vice like grip wrapped around her upper arms and she felt her feet lose contact with the ground as he moved her forward.

“Heda, please, this is not...right!” Kora looked appalled, stepping in front of the hulking man, who simply brushed her aside and deposited his burden on the large balcony that lay beyond the doors by the throne. “Really I feel the need to repeat myself, this is no form of hospitality, this is..is…”

The look on Lexa’s face ground the woman’s argument to a halt.  Kora spun, just as the moon came out from behind a cloud to shine with full strength on pale, ragged figure beneath it.  The lines of  _ natshana ink _ lit up like nothing any of them had ever seen.  Alive came the twin ravens, the great cat and the complex interlocking patterns of her Trial tattoos.  The blue luminescence cast the girl in a ghostly light, the lines decorating her face, highlighting every dip and swell of her delicate bone structure.  

Katja dropped her arms in defeat and stared at a spot on the floor in front of her.  Never had she felt so exposed or so vulnerable.  And at the hands the very person whose cause she had risked her life to join.  It was a particularly hard slap in the face. 

Kora recovered first, hurrying out on the balcony as best she could and extending her own shawl towards Katja, who was too shell shocked to even notice the chattering of her own teeth in the cold.  “Please take it, child.  I’m so terribly sorry for all of this.  Please.”  Gently, slowly, she slipped the wrap around Katja’s slender shoulders, trying to guide her inside. Kora felt what was either a cough or a sob in response. “This is not what we agreed to Heda.  This is barbaric.”

Lexa’s mouth opened, and then closed without a sound.  She could not take her eyes of the  _ natshana _ markings.  Yuna added her thin cloak to Kora’s shawl and between the two pieces of clothing, they almost managed to wrap Katja completely.  The girl’s breathing was deep and measured.  In and out.  In and out.  Nothing was said and the crackling of the logs on the fire across the room was the only noise.  In and out.  The three crones glanced at each other in concern.

“Are you satisfied?”  Even though it was a whisper, the voice was authoritative and laced with rage. “I have done nothing but seek your approval Commander, from the second I first saw you.  I have threatened no one, I have tried to show you, and yet this,  _ this _ , is how you need to see to believe?” The fury built behind the words, each one now practically spat at Heda’s feet.  “Three signs.  The eyes, you have seen.  The markings, you have seen.  And the gift, you have seen and yet you chose the cast me in the dungeon like a common criminal. You belittled me.  You have beat me and now you have stripped me nearly bare for all to see.  For what?  To show your power?  Your mastery over me?  Is your ego so fragile?”

Katja took a step forward.  Titus took a step back towards Farrah and Gustus, who were in the process of drawing their weapons.  She noticed Heda drop a hand to the pommel of her sword.  “All you had to do was ASK.  But you let the prejudice of others rule you instead of listening to your heart.  You allowed the  _ kepa’s _ brutality, why?  Because that is the way of the Clans?  I doubt that.  You built a Coalition for stability and peace, I know that is not what you believe.”  

She looked up, dropping the mask and allowing the emerald flames to burn unchecked.  “Is this what you wanted?  Is this the sign you needed to see?  Then look.”  Titus staggered further backwards and Katja smiled in satisfaction. Let him fear her.  Let them all fear her.  She was done with being meek and polite.  If force and aggression were all these people understood, so be it.

Kora placed a timely hand on Katja’s shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze, trying to diffuse the confrontation she could feel was coming. Her breath caught in her throat at the sight of the unnatural green.  It was true then, this girl, after all this time…

 “Amin, do not hate Heda too readily.  Plots against her are many.”  She spoke with more conviction than she felt at that moment.  Never, for the rest of her remaining days, would she be able to erase the memory of the hurt that she saw buried beneath the anger.  “And her advisors, well…”. The older woman shrugged dismissively, indicating exactly what she thought of Titus.  “It does not excuse her but perhaps it helps explain.”

Catching movement out of the corner of her eye, Katja turned to see the Commander approach slowly, a large blanket clutched tightly in her hands.  Her expression was a mix of regret, fear, and determination.  Katja could feel the guilt radiating from her without requiring touch as a conduit. 

“Heda…”  Titus tried.

“No, Titus.”  The brunette shook her head slowly, unfurling the blanket and stopping directly in front of Katja.  She extended the covering out slightly, eyes widening in question.

“Heda step away, do not allow her to sway your j--”  The Fleimkepa was agitated, wringing his hands within the billowing sleeves of his robes.  Lexa was far too close to the girl for his comfort, and unprotected.

“Titus.  You have done quite enough.  I have listened to your hatred, biased advice and vitriol on this matter for too long.”  Heda sighed, but did not turn.  “Now leave us.  I will hear no more of this.”

“Heda you cannot be serious!”

“Gustus, remove the Fleimkepa from the throne room.  He is to be kept away from the prisoner and her companion until I order otherwise and he is in no way to make any decisions regarding their welfare.”

“Sha, Heda.”  The large man motioned to the door, directing Titus to leave of his own accord.  The Fleimkepa, choosing to maintain his dignity, stormed from the room, but not before casting a dark glare at the guard and a furious one at Heda.   The Commander knew it was not the last she would hear on the matter. 

Katja flicked her gaze from the blanket to the hopeful look on Heda's face and back again. Surely the Commander didn't expect her to simply accept. Yuna, Niah, and Kora stepped out in front of her, pressing their hunched shoulders together to form a sort of ancient wall. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Heda's brow furrowed in annoyance at the three women blocking her way. It would be easy enough to move them, but she knew damage control was needed, not further insult. “Stand aside.”

“I'm afraid we cannot Commander.” Niah spoke for them, her rasping voice a dry rattle in her throat. “She is not a piece of property to be claimed. What we have witnessed here tonight is a travesty. A miracle has been delivered to your doorstep and you have done nothing but spit on it. We do not trust you with her.”

“I am your Heda!” Lexa stared incredulously at the trio.  Had they just taken the captive’s side over hers? 

“And it is with the greatest respect that ask you to maintain your distance.”

An uncomfortable silence stretched awkwardly between them. The Commander finally growled in aggravation and thrust the blanket into Niah’s arms.

“Farrah!”  The guard was at Heda's side in a heartbeat. “Have a room prepared for my  _ guest _ ,” she emphasized the last word with pointed sarcasm. “She is your responsibility.  I will join you shortly.”

Farrah saluted and slipped out of the room momentarily to speak with one of Heda’s house staff.  The Commander paced calmly in front of the crones, reigning in her irritation.  “And you three.  What am I to do with you?  I seem to be collecting quite the set of treasonous advisors.”

“Heda, he had gone too far.  The entire situation had.  I do not think that either of you are comprehending the gravity of the situation.  Even now.”  Kora clasped her hands in front of her. “The  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ have immense power.  Fate changing power.  And her timing, as you solidify your position on the Council, could not have been more fortuitous.  Your relationship should have been nurtured, but instead it has been beaten bloody.  Together you could have led the Clans into a new era.  I fear instead that we are all now doomed to fail.”

Lexa met Katja’s furious glare and wondered if perhaps the crone was right.  She had been mistaken to allow Titus take the lead on this.  His naturally suspicious nature and penchant for aggression were ill-suited to deal with someone who claimed to come willing to support. If she were honest with herself she had done it because there was something about this girl that made her profoundly uneasy.  She didn’t trust herself around Katja and that was a position she was unaccustomed to.  

“You three will stay with me.  We have things to discuss.”  The Commander jabbed a finger towards the women as Farrah reappeared beside Heda as silently as she had left. “Remove her.”

The large doors swung shut with a resounding boom as the guard prodded Katja out of the room and along the curved hallway.  Even before they were completely closed she heard the beginnings of an animated discussion between Heda and the three women.  She prayed that Kora remained as eloquent as she had been, because there was no doubt that what was at stake in the conversation was her life.

_________

 

**Gyon up, Heda** \- long live the Commander

**Yongon -- Kom koma en spek daun. -** Child -- With honor and respect.

**Natshana** \-- moon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all, sorry for the wait, but this is a bit of a longer chapter so I hope that makes up for it. Bit of a pivotal one here, and for the couple people that messaged me with angst ridden "why are you making Lexa so horrible!?" concerns....just wait my darlings. It will get better from here on out.
> 
> Comments? Observations? Disgruntlement? Would love to hear what you're all thinking. If you want to ask a question, chat, or follow my wandering path of mild obsessions, I've also started up a Tumblr account so you can hit me up over there at: ohheyhuarache. Gold star to the first person brave enough to extend a welcome!


	22. The Third Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Katja stops looking like a street urchin and the Commander insists on confirming her indentity. Additional notes at the end.

The room was large and warm thanks to the substantial fire roaring in the stone fireplace to the left of the door. The guard had marched her quickly through the halls but now that they had arrived at their destination, seemed uncertain as to what to do next. She had prodded Katja into the room and closed the door behind them, taking up position by the entry way and now simply stared openly.

Katja scanned the space in silence, taking in large wooden bed that occupied the entire right side wall, pillows and a set of neatly tucked blankets beckoning to her in her exhaustion. The room had none of the elaborateness of the throne room, there were no prettily curled sconces or fine fabric curtains, but it was far from spartan, with several fur rugs covering the cold stone of the floor and what looked to be a balcony beyond a set of french doors. By far the most appealing sight, however, was the enormous metal tub that sat steaming in front of the fire. A bath. She nearly cried.

“Heda ordered it drawn.” The small voice from the corner startled her and she whirled to find that Farrah was not the only other occupant of the room. A girl, a year or two younger by the looks of it, stepped out from the shadows and bowed deeply, a mane of unruly auburn curls obscuring her face. “Ai laik Sadie. I will help prepare you for Heda’s visit.”

“Your stench has been offending our noses.” Katja raised a surprised brow at Farrah, the Commander’s guard, who smirked from her position at the door. While she knew she was undoubtedly rather ripe, she hadn’t expected it to be so bluntly stated. It was not as though she was filthy by choice.

The tub gleamed invitingly, fine tendrils of steam rising from the surface even in the warmth of the room. Katja took a cautious step, watching Farrah for permission, and then another when the gruff woman made no move to stop her. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflective surface of the water and gasped audibly. Her normally gleaming hair and its soft waves were nowhere to be found, replaced instead by a tangled dark mess that looked as though some small animal had nested on top of her head. Her face was haggard, dehydrated and thin, and covered in a layer of brown dirt so thick it appeared her face had been painted. The fact that she had been paraded in front of Heda, the Fleimkepa and the Krones looking like this made her cheeks burn from embarrassment.

She dipped the tip of a finger tentatively into the water and found it to be just shy of scalding. With another questioning look to Farrah, who rolled her eyes and made a shooing gesture towards the tub, Katja stripped quickly out of her soiled clothes. Whatever shyness she may have had in front of total strangers, which was little, was further blunted by the sudden desire to look and feel more like herself again. Carefully, first one foot and then the other, Katja climbed into the tub, hissing softly as her cold legs adjusted to the hot water. She wiggled her toes beneath the surface, noting how the water was already beginning to cloud with dirt. Perhaps Heda should have ordered two…

She could not help the sound, somewhere between a sigh and a moan, that escaped her lips as she lowered slowly into the steaming liquid. Even though it was already almost unbearable she found herself wishing it were hotter still, to burn off the physical reminders of the previous few weeks. She sunk further down until only her eyes were visible above the surface, enjoying the muted silence for a moment as the water filled her ears, before submersing herself fully. It was heavenly. Katja held her breath as long as she could manage, pressing her feet firmly against the other end of the tub and enjoying heat that radiated from the metal surface itself.

A shape appeared above her and she broke the surface, blinking at Sadie who had moved to the edge of the tub, concerned at the length of time Katja remained under. She saw the younger girl’s eyes shift briefly to the water, lips twisting into a grimace. Katja looked down, catching the fact that the water rolling off her chin was brown, not clear, and that her body was completely invisible beneath the surface of the now murky bath water.

“Here, some soap. Do what you can, I will fetch more water.” The servant girl handed her a rough bar of soap and a small cloth, realizing that neither would be sufficient to remove the layers of grime on their own. Sadie ducked out of the room momentarily and Katja worked at lifting the caked on dirt. It wasn’t entirely futile, and as her skin slowly returned to its normal paleness she began to feel a little more human. In the span of a couple hours she had gone from living in a stone cell and reeking of god knows what, to a room with a bed and a fire and a glorious, wondrous bath. The change of pace was more than welcome.

Sadie returned, followed by two burly men in simple clothes who struggled with a large basin of hot water. They deposited it hurriedly and left. The servant girl appraised her progress from beside the first tub, seemingly dissatisfied by Katja’s efforts.

“Stand and step to the fresh water, you’re accomplishing nothing but smearing the dirt into new patterns.”

Katja stared back, surprised at the authority in the girl’s tone. Disrespect seemed to run rife in Heda’s household. She saw Farrah step forward from her position at the door and sighed loudly. “There is no need for that. I am going.”

The sides of both vessels were low enough that she was able to step directly from one to the other, trying to transfer minimal grime into the clean water of the second tub. Sadie held out her hand for the soap and cloth, the latter of which she wrinkled her nose at and threw directly into the fire, causing it to hiss and sputter in the heat. A new, rougher looking cloth appeared in the girl’s hand accompanied by a determined look. She set about scrubbing first Katja’s hair, which required several forced dunkings and grumbled protests, before moving onto her skin. Though tiny, the force with which the girl scrubbed was neither delicate nor apologetic. The harsh cloth dragged back and forth, buffing her abused skin into a state of startling cleanliness albeit a raw, reddened one.

When Sadie reached her face, Katja, being thoroughly disgruntled, met the look of concentration with the full force of her unmasked eyes, her annoyance flashing in the flickers of pale green. The girl hesitated, before sniffing disdainfully and swiping Katja’s forehead with the cloth. Apparently displeasing Heda still ranked as more terrifying than a stranger that everyone labelled as some sort of monster.

Everything tingled. The burn of the warm water against her scrubbed skin made for a less relaxing experience than ideal, but the smell of soap, the feeling of soft skin, and the return of basic human decency was well worth the discomfort. Sadie stepped back to view her handiwork and nodded sharply, apparently please with what she saw.

“There are clean clothes on the table. Let’s get you out of the bath and into something that doesn’t smell of last month’s garbage.” Sadie wrinkled her nose almost unconsciously and Katja heard a quiet chuckle from Farrah at the door.

“But….my old clothes, they were dirty I realize, will they be returned?” Katja couldn’t keep the pleading note from creeping into her voice. Although they had been full of holes, covered in heavens only knew what, and rank as a latrine, they were still the robes of her order, a reflection of her station and one of the few things she still possessed of home.

“Please. Those rags have hopefully been incinerated.” Farrah snorted loudly and crossed her arms over her chest. She eyed the mop of dripping black hair that glared balefully back at her from the metal tub. “You should be thankful that Heda saw fit to relieve you of them.”

Sadie held a large towel out by the edge of the tub and shook it impatiently. Katja took the hint, rising reluctantly from the rapidly cooling water and stepping out into the cloth’s waiting embrace. It was surprising soft. Even Sadie’s ministrations felt gentle, as water droplets gave way to goosebumps in the relative chill of the air.

Towel discarded, the servant girl moved on to the pile of clothing, handing Katja first a long strip of binding cloth and a pair of bottom underclothes. Next came a pair of black pants, made from a material that she couldn’t readily identify. It was loose and flowing but also incredibly warm. She tied the drawstring at the waist and instantly felt her legs cocooned in warmth. For over the bindings she was handed a dark brown sleeveless shirt, followed by a short sleeved cotton one, and lastly a long sleeved black sweater made of the same material as the pants.

“Sit.” Sadie motioned to a nearby chair and Katja obliged, having little choice in the matter. A comb, finely carved and intricately decorated, appeared from the other girl’s pocket and dug its teeth into Katja’s freshly washed hair. She expected a harsh and tortuous experience, if the bath had been anything to go by but was surprised to feel the smaller girl’s nimble fingers move gentle through the tangled strands, working with the comb to free the worst of the knots. Katja sighed quietly and felt the hands pause in her hair a moment before they continued, quickly brushing out the remaining sections and loosely plaiting them into a single thick braid that hung slightly below her shoulder.

“Heda will arrive shortly.” She felt Sadie step back and heard footsteps towards the door. Katja rose and turned towards them, earning an arched brow from Farrah, who could barely connect the clean, beautiful young woman in front of her with the disgusting wretch that had entered the room a mere hour before.

“Sadie?” Katja cleared her throat and spoke, stopping the servant in her tracks. “Mochof.”

Sadie blinked in surprise and bowed low. The comment sunk the room into a tense quiet, with none of the three knowing exactly what, if anything, to say. Mercifully the awkward silence didn’t last long. Farrah’s stare barely had time to build up its distrustful intensity before a firm rap on the door signalled the arrival of the Commander. Farrah swung the door open and saluted as Heda, still in full armour, stalked into the room.

Lexa sat at one of the two chairs tucked into the side table and motioned for her to sit in the other. Not knowing quite what to expect, Katja approached warily, feeling the constant presence of her newfound watcher follow closely behind.

“Farrah, Sadie, leave us.”

The servant girl bobbed her head quickly and disappeared from the room in less time than it took for Farrah to consider protesting. The guard paused a moment, but the rigid set of Heda’s spine suggested that argument may not be in her best interests. With a salute and a deadly glare levelled at the prisoner, she too left, closing the door behind her.

The Commander leaned back into the chair, staring at an empty spot on the far wall of the room in order to collect herself. She could feel the girl’s eyes on her, could see even in her unfocused vision that burning green, watching her intently with apprehension.

Lexa drew her dagger from its sheath, the sharp edge glinting in the candlelight. With measured slowness, she lowered the tip against the palm of her left hand and dragged it across the full width. She saw the girl’s hands twitch reflexively as though to stop her, but they refrained, settling back onto her lap. A thin line of black appeared almost immediately, widening as Heda flexed her fingers. She had not cut deeply, and the sting was inconsequential. As the first drop loosed itself from the bottom side of her hand, Lexa made eye contact, her stomach clenching awkwardly at the intensity of the girl’s stare.

“The third sign.”

“Heda?”

“You will show me the third sign.” Lexa held her hand out into the space between them, keeping her voice calm and level despite a sharp surge of nerves. “The gift. If you are what you claim to be. You tried once before, but I…,” the Commander trailed off, quickly rephrasing her initial thought, “...we were interrupted.”

“With all due respect Heda, I have never claimed to be anything.” Katja narrowed her eyes slightly, unable to help being somewhat suspicious at the other girl’s change of heart. “I know what others believe me to be. And many of those beliefs are wrong.”

“Then correct them.” Lexa pushed her hand further forward, the dark blood pooling in her palm. “Speak with me, explain to me. I relied on the knowledge and expertise of others to advise, and are well aware of their opinions. Now let me hear yours. There is no one here to interfere. I wish to see and to listen, and hopefully to understand.”

Katja lowered her eyes to the wound. Another drop splashed onto the floor at their feet. With a deep breath, she scooted her chair forward slowly, watching for any sign of unease in the Commander. Other than Heda’s quickened breathing, there was nothing. Extending her own hands out, palms up, her eyes met Lexa’s green-on-green, in question. “If I may Heda?”

She nodded, and the girl enclosed the Commander’s hand between both of her own. A series of images flashed rapidly through Lexa’s head, a replay of dreams that had haunted her for over a month. Glimpses of forest, and rock, and snow competed with emerald green and a longing so forceful that Lexa felt her color rise. She held Katja’s eyes despite it all and saw a look of confusion and alarm form before her hand was released suddenly. The girl was now staring at her hands as though they had betrayed her, the dark smudge of Lexa’s blood blending perfectly with the black ink of her tattoos.

“Is something wrong?” Heda peered intently at the clearly shaken captive, watching as she flexed her fingers slowly.

“I..I was not prepared for that.” Katja’s voice was quiet, pensive as she stared at the Commander’s blood on her hands and the dreamscapes continued to whirl with dizzying speed in her head.

“For what exactly?”

“The images. They are very...unusual. A shared memory. As I tried to explain to you before, we have met. Perhaps not in a traditional sense, but... I don’t understand how they are getting through.” Katja spoke more to herself than the Commander, a deep frown furrowing her brow. The moment she had touched Heda’s hand, before she had relaxed her protective shields to begin healing, the flashes of landscapes and shadows had come, entirely unbidden. They should not have gotten through her barriers. Nothing had ever gotten through.

Katja held out her blood streaked hands to once more cover the Commander’s. She could feel the push of information, like an insistent pulse in her temples. This time however, prepared and expecting the visions to come, she was able to ease more comfortably into them, allowing the imagery to flow past and around her thoughts like nothing more than background scenery.

“You will feel a bit...odd, Heda. Please do not be alarmed.” Katja flicked a quick look at the Commander, who shifted slightly in her seat but maintained a neutral expression. The healer let her eyes slide closed, focussing mentally on the angry line of flesh along Heda’s palm. It was such a minor wound that pain relief was quite unnecessary, however in the interest of showing the Commander as much of her skills as she was able to, she slowed her own breathing. She felt Heda tense, pulse racing briefly before the effects of the suppressant took hold.

“What are you doing?” Lexa kept her voice level, even as she could feel the rest of her body relaxing into a state of languid numbness. Her breathing slowed to match, forcing a sense of calm. The loss of control struck a chord of panic, but there was little she could do.

“For the pain, Heda. I realize the cut was not deep, but you wish to understand the process, and perhaps it will help to explain some of what you and your fisa have seen already.” Katja inhaled, concentrating energy in her palms before exhaling slowly, knitting together the broken tissue quickly and with little effort. Lexa felt nothing other than a slight tightness across her palm.

After a few moments she released Heda’s hand and opened her eyes, fixing the Commander with a guarded, but curious, stare. She watched as Lexa stared at her hand, slowly flexing and unflexing her fingers and tracing the line of the no-longer-visible wound with the index finger of her other hand.

“You were right, back in the forest, when you said that I knew you,” Lexa allowed cautiously. “It was a feeling more than actual recognition. I did not -- do not -- understand it. I do not understand how you have just done this.” The Commander held her hand up to the light and turned it first one way and then the other, unable to find even a trace of the cut she had made. Her gaze flicked back to Katja to find the girl watching her with an expression that Lexa read as hopeful.

“Heda,” Katja dipped her head respectfully, “I swear that there will be time enough for me to answer all that I can. There is one, however, that may be able to add far more insight and also speak with your kepa.”

“Your guard?”

“My Kepa.” Katja chuckled softly, picturing the look of indignation that would have appeared on Lewan’s face at the assumption. “He is to me as the Fleimkepa is to you. And yes, also my protector, and friend. He has studied many years and will be able to answer many more questions than I.”

“Your….kepa,” Lexa struggled to keep her face expressionless. She hadn't considered the large blade-wielding man to be anything more than muscle for the slight, seemingly defenceless girl in front of her. He was a far cry from the wiry, academic fury of Titus. A warrior-priest no less. “He has also been moved to more suitable quarters, although en route he did break my guard’s nose and threaten much worse if he did not see you immediately.”

“Sounds very much like him.” Katja couldn’t help but laugh, her eyes dancing in amusement. “I am happy to hear he has at least partially recovered.”

The Commander’s breath caught in her throat at the sound, full and rich, complimented by the genuine smile that graced the girl’s lips. It had taken Lexa a moment when she had entered the room to map Katja’s now clean features to the dirt smeared ones she was more familiar with. The same strength of presence and aura of latent power persisted, if not even stronger, and those, combined with the simple dark braid, delicately arched brows, and…

“Commander?” Katja frowned at Heda’s silence, interpreting it as a distracted sort of displeasure. Heda was staring openly, and Katja squirmed uncomfortably in her seat. There was something in the other’s gaze that made Katja uncharacteristically self-conscious. She blinked slowly and exhaled, sliding the mask into place and looking once more to the Commander. “I should not have laughed at your guard’s misfortune, I am sorry.”

Heda’s frown only deepened as she watched the mesmerizing irises, only a moment ago crackling with humour, fade to a flat shade of green. Lexa cursed herself for being caught out.

“No need. And no need for that,”. Lexa passed her own hand in front of her eyes to indicate the mask. “I told you, I wish to understand. Why do you hide?”

“I…”. Katja pursed her lips and sorted out her wording before speaking, “realize that I can be unsettling.”

“I am not unsettled.” Lexa blurted a little too quickly before raising her chin and straightening into a posture that she knew most found intimidating. The girl simply watched her calmly and gave a small shrug of her shoulders.

“Your people are not used to me. I am still quite the curiosity. I do not take offense Heda, it is just easier sometimes to remove some of the distraction.” Katja generalized rather than directing the comments at the Commander, knowing that the meaning would be received either way. “To be seen and heard as myself rather than a ‘Kovakeryon.”

“But that is who, and what, you are, is it not?”

“Of course. But I am also just Katja, a person. One who is tired of fighting and war, of hiding and isolation, and who wants the Coalition to succeed to bring peace to a people that have been too long without it. I hope in time to prove my worth, not by title but by deed.”

Lexa knew that feeling all too well. She was the Commander. Heda. That was what the people saw, that was what they wanted. Her strength and her leadership. None, not even Titus, acknowledged that beneath the title and the power there was simply Lexa, a girl from Trikru who had been called to a duty greater than herself.

The Commander looked thoughtful for a moment before standing abruptly, her chair scraping backwards across the stone floor. Katja quickly followed suit and the two found themselves standing opposite each other, separated by a small gap of open air. Neither moved, neither spoke, and neither seemed overly eager to end the conversation. Within the steady stare both felt a sort of mutual understanding, one that Lexa in particular had been lacking for quite some time.

Katja swore she saw Heda’s stony facade soften before the Commander spun on her heel and made her way to the door. Heda paused with her hand on the handle and half turned, the moss-green of her eyes jolting even in the dim lighting.

“Rest now. Your companion is well cared for. We will speak more tomorrow.”

“Sha, Heda. Mochof.” Katja had opened her mouth to say more, to continue this interaction with the Commander as long as possible, but realized too that it was late, and that the heavy drag of exhaustion pulled at her limbs like chains. So instead she nodded her good night And Heda pulled the door closed behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little side-tracked with work insanity and a much needed vacation, so apologies for being slower than normal in posting this. Things in the Grounder world are about to get very interesting now that they're back in the political hub of the Coalition. I hope you all stick around to see what kind of trouble Katja can get herself into.
> 
> Again, and as always...comments, kudos and all forms of support are very welcome. Think of it as the caffeine that keeps a writer's mind excited! Let me know what you think about the slowly shifting relationship between Lexa and Katja, and hey if you have any questions, let's hear them.


	23. Belief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Katja receives visitors on the night leading up to the Council meeting and does her best to plead her case with Lexa.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! Apologies for the lengthy absence, work had created a sort of "no fly zone" for hobbies over the last four months and I honestly struggled to remember what day it was, never mind keep these characters in line.
> 
> Bit of a longer chapter to hopefully make up for some of the wait. I'd really like to continue this one, but am worried that the long time between posts has killed any momentum or continuity it had built up for you. Please let me know if you're enjoying it!

The throne room was no less imposing in the light of day.

Katja had been startled awake at sunrise when Sadie noisily threw open the curtains covering the doors to the balcony and the weak rays of first light stabbed violently at her darkness-accustomed eyes. She was hurried through another bath, another braid and a quick breakfast of bread and cheese, all before the sun had fully risen above the horizon. 

Farrah, one of Heda’s personal guard, had ushered her down the hall and through the massive double doors, beyond which waited a small group of people clustered tightly in conversation. Five heads turned to the doors as they opened and she caught sight of Heda, Titus, and the Krones, all three of whom had apparently survived their insubordination the previous day. She nodded her head respectfully to each and clasped her hands in front of her, left standing awkwardly in the middle of the room alone once Farrah had retreated to her post by the door.

“Good morning, _Amin_ ,” it was not Heda, but Yuna that stepped forward to greet her first, “I trust you rested well?”

“ _Mochof_ , I did, yes.” Katja allowed herself a small smile and was delighted to see it returned by all three of the women. Whatever the Commander and Titus believed, the Krones were clearly on her side. “Heda has been most gracious.” She saw the Commander straighten and could feel the weight of her stare, but refused to meet it.

“Your companion will join us later.” The wrinkled woman answered her next question before she’d even formed words to ask it. “He has been given extra care due to his condition upon arrival.”

“Again, _mochof_. The _kepa_ will be most grateful I am sure, as am I, for the hospitality.” Katja bowed lightly and caught the aggravated look on Titus’ face. Clearly the title of _kepa_ was not something the bald man cared to share. She made a note to use it in reference to Lewan as frequently as she could.

“As I’m sure you are aware, your unprecedented arrival is an unforeseen complication.” TItus spoke now, his previous malice replaced with a haughty, entitled arrogance. “Until we have decided exactly how to approach this, it would be in the best interests of your safety if you remained in your quarters.”

The Commander winced slightly at the _kepa_ ’s tone and stepped forward as though to try wording it more delicately. She lifted a brow to silence Titus and had only just opened her mouth to speak when without so much as even a knock, the doors flew open to admit a contingent of Azgeda clansmen, led by the small but imperious form of their Queen.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion?” The Commander’s lip curled back into a snarl, the white of her teeth a sharp contrast to the black war paint across her eyes. If there was ever a doubt as to how Heda felt about the Azplana, it was now certainly clear. Her hand was on the grip of her sword, but she did not withdraw it, instead holding herself rigid, eyes locked in fury on Nia’s own icy blue stare.

“I have heard rumour _Heda_ ,” the word was spoken like a curse, low and venomous, “that your prisoner was now, in fact, an esteemed guest. It appears to have been truthful.”

Lexa’s only response was to arch a brow as though to say “what of it?”, the snarl relaxing into a sort of half smirk. 

“Rumours also say that she is _‘Kovakeryon_ ,” she jutted her chin in the direction of the Krones, “which also appears correct. Assuming the tests have been passed.” Nia didn’t wait for confirmation. “I am concerned, Heda. Such power. I do not think you understand the danger.”

“I do not think you understand your place, Nia.” Heda squared her shoulders and frowned. The Ice Queen was not normally so overt in her disregard of protocol and the lack of predictability filled Lexa with a sense of foreboding. “Nor would I take you for one to put much stock in rumor.”

“Do you deny it then?” Nia’s eyes practically glittered. Despite the Commander’s well-practiced facade, she knew that Heda had been caught off guard.

“I deny nothing. Nor are you owed any sort of explanation. You’ve taken quite an interest in this arrival since the very beginning, but I admit I hadn’t expected such a brazen show of disrespect. What the girl is or is not is none of your concern and the matter will be discussed at Council, where all Coalition members will have their say.”

”Council is yet three days away Heda. You have already held her for well over a week. A case such as this should have been expedited.” The Azplana scowled her disapproval and shook her head softly. “Convenient to hide her within the bureaucracy of Polis. She di--”

“You need not speak of me as though I’m not in the room.” All eyes snapped to Katja as she moved forward, cutting off Nia’s next sentence. Though in Nia’s presence she kept the dull green mask in place, her tone of voice and the steady glare that she pinned both leaders with commanded attention. “I am not a piece of chattel for the Clans to argue over and I am most certainly not here to mindlessly serve whomever yells the loudest.”

“Ah, so she speaks.” Nia tapped her fingers idly against the pommel of her sword, a reptilian half smile pulling at her lips. “I had begun to think that Heda’s hospitality had done you permanent damage. You look well.”

“An improvement over when last you saw me to be sure.”

“I caution you _yongon_. Heda does not understand the Old Ways, she does not respect them. You will not find the security and status that you deserve here in Polis. Policy and ego rule in the city.”

“And Azgeda would provide it?” The Commander had opened her mouth to protest but Katja raised a hand gently to quiet her. “The north would welcome a force it once hated?...Hunted? What assurance would I have that my head would not be mounted as a trophy within a week?”

“Assurance?” Nia snorted derisively. “What assurance do you have that the same will not befall you here? What reason, given your treatment to date, would you have to believe that the Commander sees you as anything other than an opportunity? You forget who cared for you, who fed you, and who spoke to you with respect. Who made every effort to show generosity in the face of unnecessary cruelty.”

Lexa’s frown deepened as Nia continued. Apparently the Azplana’s dealings with the prisoner extended beyond the few instances that she was aware of and Nia’s description of the Coalition treatment of the girl to date was accurate. The Commander watched Katja’s face carefully, trying to read her thoughts from her expressions, but saw only a placid calm.

“It is true, Azplana, that you were the first to show me kindness.” Katja dipped her head quickly in acknowledgment and clasped her hands tightly behind her back. “But your kindness is not without price. A price I do not believe I ever agreed to pay. I am confused though. I understood that your presence here was out of concern for the Commander’s safety, and yet now you preach about mine. Did you come here to rescue Heda from my power, or my power from Heda?”

Nia’s smile slipped somewhat, the fingers of her hand curling tighter about her sword. She held Katja’s probing look a few moments longer and realized that the choice had already been made. Azgeda would gain no ally here against the Commander. 

“I did not imagine you so ungrateful _yongon_. You wound me, truly. I had nothing but the purest of intentions. There is no price to pay for service to the Coalition. The most I had hope for was thanks.”

“And thanks you have already been given, Azplana.” Katja shifted her gaze to Farrah, and gestured for the guard to re-open the door. “Now I think it’s best that you take your leave before this misunderstanding becomes something more.”

Nia said nothing, but the rigid set of her spine betrayed her fury. With a sharp nod she signalled to her guards and spun on her heel, not bothering to look back as she strode from the throne room. Farrah closed the door quickly as the last of the queen’s retinue filed out, securing the bolt lock with obvious relief.

“Whatever plan the Azplana may have had seems to have dissolved for the time being Heda.” Titus frowned at the smooth wood of the door as though he could follow the queen’s path beyond it. He paced frenetically in front of the Commander, the flow of his robes mimicking the anger and anxiety within. “But it was bold. Too bold.”

“That is the trouble with Nia.” Lexa grit her teeth angrily. “Her backup plans have backup plans. We have not heard the end of this.”

\---------------------------

In the wake of Nia’s visit, Katja had spent her day, and the following one, exactly as Titus had wished it, locked away securely in her chambers like some sort of rare pet. She had had no word from Lewan, none from Heda, and talking to Farrah was like trying to squeeze water from a stone. The serving girl, Sadie, entered once with a cold lunch and again with dinner, setting both down on the small dressing table in the room with no more than the barest of nods. The isolation was maddening.

As the sun set on the second day, the gloom of her surroundings seemed particularly oppressive, fiery oranges fading into the faded blues of twilight. She threw another log on the hearth and poked at it aggressively, sighing her frustrations into the chilling air. She was used to the outdoors. To great expanses of open sky, the glittering surface of endless tundra, and of late, the towering arms of the Trikru forest. Here, trapped in four stone walls, all of those felt distant and unreachable and it made her vaguely claustrophobic. How did the people of Polis live like this?

She settled in cross-legged on the woven rug at the foot of the bed, letting her hands rest open upon her thighs.

_Weron bilaik soncha, seintaim bilaik trikova._  
Where there was light there was also shadow.

She allowed her breathing to settle into a measured, regular rhythm and emptied her mind of all but the dancing of the flame before her. Slowly the frustrated blaze of lighter green in Katja’s irises slowed to match the flicker and fan of the fire. 

_Breathe now. In...and out._

She sought the comfort of Lewan’s voice, repeating the mantra that she had heard so often over the course of her training. She tried desperately to relax but each time the calming void of nothingness began to crowd out the busyness of her agitated brain, images of Nia’s cold glare or Heda’s distinctive war paint came unbidden.

_In...and out, center yourself._

Titus’ disdain, Naomi’s fear. _FOCUS._ Lewan’s face, bruised and beaten. Try as she might,the flames did not soothe her, the ravens did not speak to her. It was as though the smoothly hewn stone blocked out not just air and light, but also things of a less tangible nature. They choked off all sources of comfort, pressing in on her like a weight on all sides.

Rubbing the back of her neck absently, Katja grumbled quietly and rose, approaching the doors to the balcony as she had a dozen times before, and as a dozen times before twisted the knob futilely against the lock. Her forehead came to rest on the cool wood of the door frame and she bounced it gently in place a few times before retreating to the rug at the foot of the bed. 

Farrah eyed her with something approaching pity. It was like watching a wild animal chafe under collar and cage. Sooner or later the girl would either attempt to flee, or simply go mad. A knock at the door saved the woman from addressing her concern and upon opening the small eye-height portal in the door, it was with great relief that she saw Nyko.

“I come with Heda’s permission.”

The healer waited as the door was unbolted before striding calmly into the room, allowing his eyes to adjust to the brightness of the large fire. The room looked little changed since the morning. The bed was unslept in, the curtains drawn and the chair still neatly tucked beneath the small side table.

“Is the room not to your liking?”

Nyko moved to stand beside Katja, crouching down as she turned to face him, a deep frown marring the pale skin of her brow. His hands clenched involuntarily against his sides as he noticed the matching fluid movements of the flame and the flecks of green. She merely sighed and blinked languidly, the mask returning to help soothe his unease.

“The room is quite adequate, for an hour or two perhaps.” The girl shrugged lightly and returned her gaze to the fire. “I am not used to such confinement, Nyko. It does not sit well with me.”

“You are here for your own safety.” The hairs on the large man’s arms raised as his name rolled from her lips, lilted and purring. Even the girl’s voice unsettled him. “Heda is wise to do so after what happened yesterday.”

“Mm.” A non-commital grunt was all the response he received.

“I came to check that you were well. And also to tell you that I have been treating your companion.”

Her head swivelled immediately, a look of concern smoothing the frown into more of a grimace. “How is he, when can I see him?” Katja’s hand settled on the cuff of his shirt, fingers curling ever-so-slightly into the material.

“He is well improved.” Nyko stared at the jet black skin against his plain brown clothing, remembering that with that simple touch, the man in question had been healed faster and better than anything he himself could have hoped to achieve. “Well improved. Thanks to you mostly, if I am to be honest. He is able to stand briefly now, and will not stop asking for you. I fear once he fully regains his feet that not even Heda’s army would be able to keep him from you.” He smiled softly and shook his head.

“But when…”

“That is for Heda to decide.”

A frustrated growl rumbled low in Katja’s chest as she sprang to her feet, nearly knocking Nyko over in the process, and began prowling back and forth in front of the hearth. 

“Heda is wise, and must be cautious. You must understand that things cannot easily be undone once a path has been chosen. I heard second hand what Nia spoke in the throne room and her words are true. The capital has as many who would see the Commander dead as it does her supporters. Polis is a viper, and one that Nia has been priming to strike for some time.”

“The Coalition is fragile.” It was a statement, not a question, and one that Nyko answered with a nod. He rose and extended his hand tentatively, making her pause in her pacing.

“It is indeed but it is also strong. And beautiful.” The pride was evident in his voice. “And as much as this place has its flaws it is also the seat of our greatest hope. Would you like to see it? The city?” He swept his other hand towards the balcony doors, and indicated to Farrah that she should open them.

The guard hesitated, keys jingling lose from her pocket but unmoving in her post.

“I will need your word _A-Amin_ …” he struggled slightly with the unfamiliar term, “that you will not try to escape nor will you cause any harm to others.”

“How little you must think of me, _fisa_.”

“Your word…” He pressed her for assurance, knowing that he risked not only Heda’s trust, but his own life should something happen as a result of his actions.

“You have it.”

Grudgingly, Farrah moved to the balcony doors and slotted the key neatly into the lock. Shooting a clear look of displeasure at Nyko, she turned the knob and swung one of the doors open wide.

Katja took a deep breath as the cold night’s air rushed into the room, feeling her sense of suffocation dissipate almost instantly. Eyeing Nyko’s hand, she braced herself for the touch, not wanting any images or feelings to invade unbidden, and gently placed her palm in his. The twinkling of the night’s sky as they stepped outside was the first thing that caught her attention, unimpeded by tree or mountain or building. The glittering mass of stars reminded her, painfully, of home and yet brought with it such a sense of joy that a true smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. She mapped out the familiar constellations like old friends, pushing memories of dungeons and chains aside in favour of the welcoming familiarity of The Hunter, The Lion, and The Flame.

And yet the stars were nothing in comparison to what she saw next.

From the high vantage point offered by the Tower, all of Polis lay out beneath them as though a carefully constructed map. Thousands and thousands of torches wavered as far as the eye could see, outlining streets, squares, and alleyways in numbers she could barely comprehend. The capital was still bustling well past the dinner hour and the tiny forms of carts and people moving along the main arteries of the city gave a sense of scale to the place that was more than a little daunting.

Nyko couldn’t help but chuckle as her mouth hung agape, all sense of propriety lost in the moment. He remembered the first time that he had seen Polis in all of its glory, and it was not a sight easily forgotten, or easily downplayed. The sense of awe had never left him, and the glowing beacon of the tower still served as the light that called him home, reminded him of his purpose, and provided hope to the people as a whole.

As the moon emerged from behind the lone cloud in the night’s sky, it was Nyko’s turn to stare in amazement as the _natshana_ markings on Katja’s face caught the light and blazed blue. Stunning seemed too weak a word to describe the way the pattern of lines and dots illuminated her features. He felt his thoughts jumble and his words fail, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to look away and gaze, much to his embarrassment, bashfully at his own feet.

“I-I should go, Amin.”

“What? So soon?” She tore her eyes away from the city below and looked quizzically at him, trying to make eye contact and failing as he stubbornly stared at the ground. “But I’m sure there is so much you can tell me about this place. The night is young.”

“Alas I am not, and unfortunately I still have other things to attend to. But please, feel free to stay and look as long as you like. Perhaps some other time there will be an opportunity for stories.” He backed away from the railing slowly and turned, collecting himself as he made his way to the door. “I shall tell your companion that you are well, and looking forward to seeing him.”

“Nyko?”

“Rest well.”

And with that he was gone. She turned to Farrah to ask about his curious behaviour and caught the gleam of terror in the other woman’s expression. Ah. So that was it then. Her shoulders slumped as she turned back towards the lights of the city, watching as a bonfire was lit off to the west, flickering into existence and growing steadily as it was fed. 

How long she watched it she couldn’t say, so lost in her own thoughts that it wasn’t until the other person joined her on the balcony that she registered another presence.

“Nyko should not have let you out here.”

The Commander. Katja straightened. “Perhaps not but his moment of compassion did much to save my sanity.” She dipped her head briefly, respectfully, though the Commander was behind her. “Heda. You honor me.”

“Do I?” Lexa stepped to stand beside the girl at the railing, keeping her eyes fixed in the distance. “With the things I have said, have done….have I?”

“You have done what has been expected of you. I would have preferred differently of course but I was perhaps naive to assume anything more.”

“What is expected of me.” There was a hint of disgust in Heda’s voice. 

“A leader is still a product of their environment, and in times like these, often beholden to it.” Katja rested an elbow on the curved rail and looked down following the segments of the Tower’s floors one by one until ground.

“Polis can be quite demanding, it is true.” They stood a moment in silence, laughter from the square below echoing faintly along the breeze.

“It’s magical.” Katja broke the quiet, and flicked her wrist to gesture at the sprawl of the capital. “I have never even imagined a place such as this, even after reading of it. So many people, so much….everything.” Truthfully, having come from small encampments and tiny villages, the mass of the city was overwhelming.

“Good and bad, yes.” The Commander scanned the horizon. “Intrigue and beauty, conflict and safety….I’m….glad that you find it pleasing.”

“Perhaps some day soon you will allow me the privilege to explore it.”

Katja’s uncharacteristically deferential tone made Lexa snort softly. “As _‘Kovakeryon_ you would be my equal. My permission is inconsequential.” The Commander turned to face the stranger, admitting a truth that they both knew, but up until this point had avoided acknowledging.

“But it is sought.” Katja turned as well, eager to have Heda understand that her purpose here was not one of glory. Her next words faltered as she lifted her eyes to Lexa’s face. There it was. The fear. The panic. The Commander did considerably better than most to hide it, but it lingered in the set of her lips, the whites of her eyes, and in the small, quick inhalation of breath that she drew as their gazes met full on. 

“How strange I must seem to you,” she shifted towards the Commander, stepping slowly forward until the space that separated them was uncomfortably small, “how foreign.”

Heda swallowed heavily but said nothing. In childhood stories she had often heard of creatures described as simultaneously beautiful and terrible, mesmerizing and horrific. She had always had difficulty rationalizing how what she considered as opposite adjectives could be reconciled into one being. Now she knew. Her stomach churned both from the girl’s extraordinary magnetism and an animalistic fear of the unknown.

“You fear me, whether you will admit it or not. Not what I represent to your Coalition, nor to your Command. Me. You are nervous. I can feel it as surely as I can feel the cold.” Katja shook her head as if to clear it, looking genuinely anguished. “Your impressions of my kind have been poisoned by generations of misunderstanding and mistrust. I do not know how to fix this. I do not know how to change this. I-...”

She cut off her own rambling with a frustrated noise and ran her fingers roughly through her dark curls. She focussed once more on the Commander, though this time not without a hint of sadness. Heda was not even able to make eye contact. Slowly, as though dealing with a skittish animal, Katja raised her hands to frame either side of the Commander’s face. Lexa started as though struck, pupils dilating until only a thin rim of green remained visible. Somehow she managed to stay still.

“Will you please look at me?”

Katja applied gentle upwards pressure, guiding Heda’s eyes to her own. The Commander’s chest constricted sharply, forcing the breath from her lungs. She hated feeling this powerless, this helpless and yet beneath the force of the girl’s piercing stare, she was both. At this distance she could clearly make out the gradations of colour that made up Katja’s uniquely vibrant green. It was not so simple as a combination of light and dark, but of many lights and many darks moving together in a hypnotic swirl. A small fleck the colour of lemongrass flared briefly and behind it, Lexa read a sense of self-consciousness and vulnerability.

“They see as yours do Heda. My blood flows as yours. My ears hear as yours.” Katja voice carried an edge of desperation, though her touch remained gentle. “I feel the same emotions. Eat the same food. As the core of it I am no different than any other person in this wondrous city of yours.”

“Liar. I have seen you do things than cannot be done. I have felt myself what you are capable of.”

“Yes, I can heal beyond the skills of your best fisas. Yes, there are other things that I have not yet shown you that are difficult to grasp, but underneath all that...beneath these markings,” she pulled a hand away from the Commander to trace the line down the ridge of her nose, the luminescence dimming as her finger blotted out the light of the moon, “beneath these eyes, and behind these hands there is simply a person. A person who fears she has made a horrible mistake and wonders whose blade will be first to silence her, but a person whose conviction, despite it all, has never, ever wavered. I have been drawn here to you, _for_ you and it’s a force that I could not fight even if I had wanted to. This is fated. I am the shadow to your light.”

“I do not believe in such fate.”

“Now who is the liar?”

Heda’s jaw clenched. “If you have this power, why not lead the Coalition and gain this peace yourself?”

“I am not the Coalition, I mean nothing to these people.” Katja’s eyes snapped back to Lexa’s and held them, her hands dropping to rest at her sides. “Ruling is not my interest Heda.”

“Ruling tends to be everyone’s interest, whether they’d admit it or no.” Lexa saw a flare of indignance brighten in the other woman’s eyes. “You’d hardly be the first and I highly doubt you’ll be the last.”

“It is not the Path.”

“The Path.”

“We have much to talk about Commander, but the hour is growing late. Perhaps now is not the time to delve into the philosophical.”

Lexa blinked and quirked a brow. Almost unconsciously she raised a finger and softly traced the same glowing line along the girl’s nose, pausing to watch the faded light renew itself. Katja’s eyes fell closed as a shaky breath escaped from between her lips. She felt the Commander’s fingertip move to similarly outline the markings of her cheeks and chin. It did not feel threatening or at all invasive, it felt more like a question, an exploration, and to her chagrin she felt her color rise under the touch.

“Perhaps not.” Heda retracted her hand and stepped back inside the room, leaving a gaping emptiness in front of Katja where once there had been warmth. “However tomorrow the council will meet. I expect you will be the only topic of conversation. What am I to tell them that they will believe?”

“What do you believe, Commander?” Katja too stepped back inside, closing the balcony door and moving to stand in front of the fire.

“As you once told me, what I believe does not matter.”

Katja chewed the inside of her lip, carefully weighing her response. “It matters a great deal, to me.”

Silence.

“What do you need from me tomorrow?” She cleared her throat and brushed her previous comment aside, hoping the Commander had not misinterpreted. “What will happen?”

“Your presence will be required and I suspect proof of your identity shown to all. It will not be a delicate matter.” Heda looked as though she were sorry for it. “The council will then debate whether you are what you say you are, and if you represent a threat or an asset. The reinstitution of a _‘Kovakaryon_ on the council, and as my peer, will not be an easy pill for most to swallow.”

“And if I am deemed a threat?”

“You will be killed.”

Katja sighed heavily, but nodded her understanding.

“These are as exact a replica as we could manage given the less than ideal state of your clothing.” The Commander gestured to a pile of clothing that had appeared on the bed at some point during their conversation outside. “From my research I know they are the robes that indicate your order and although no one on the Council is old enough to remember, they will still be impactful. Wear them. I have also returned your belt and sheathes, though I will not permit you your weapons.”

Katja could not hide her delight as she rushed to the bed, feeling the ridged pattern of the leather ripple beneath her fingers. Next she lifted the saffron coloured sash from the top of the pile and held it up to the firelight.

“The color was difficult to reproduce. If it, or anything else is not to your liking, please inform Sadie and adjustments will be made immediately.”

“ _Mochof_ , Heda. They look wonderful.”

The Commander shifted uneasily on her feet. Katja waited expectantly, sensing that Heda had more to say. Instead, Lexa held out her hand, palm up and breathed deeply.

“Show me again.”

“Heda?”

“When you healed the cut on my hand, the first time you touched me I saw the dreams that had been stalking my sleep for weeks. Shared dreams, you claimed. Show them to me again.”

“I-I do not know if I can. Forgive me Commander but I can’t always control visions in that manner. Those in particular were extremely potent, I--...”

“ _Em pleni_!” Heda shoved her arm further forward, making it clear that this was not a request, but a demand. 

Katja flexed her fingers and stared at the Commander’s arm. It was not dangerous, it had just been so jarring when first it happened that she had little desire to feel it again. Still, with the council meeting looming, there was not much of a choice.

Rather than ease into them gradually, she thought the best way to summon those exact images was to recreate the conditions under which they first occurred. With one last steadying breath she abruptly clasped her hand around the Commander’s forearm, feeling the woman’s finger grip her own. Immediately her mind was assaulted by a rapid fire series of dream sequences. From the strangled gasp of the Commander, it seemed as though she experienced the same dizzying spin of trees and stone and blood.

Heda released her hold suddenly and wavered unsteadily on her feet. Katja reacted quickly enough to catch the Commander under the arms and held her until the disorientation subsided. Recovering quickly, Heda pushed a palm harshly against Katja’s shoulder to create separation and brushed off the front of her clothing, as though the contact had sullied it.

“My vote will be for reinstatement.” Lexa’s voice was quiet, pensive. “I will do everything in my power to see it happen but the council is a council of equals. For me to override a decision would be extremely dangerous. I will not be able to protect you.”

“I understand Heda. It is a risk I am willing to take.”

“Very well then.” The Commander nodded sharply and strode to the door. “Rest. You will need it for the morning.”


	24. The Council

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lewan returns to action. Nia puts her plan in motion at a meeting of the Coalition council.

Well before sunrise came her reunion with Lewan.  She had been up, unable to sleep in the face of what the new day was likely to bring, and had answered the knock on her door to find Sadie leading the familiar figure of the priest.

“Amin!”  The volume of his greeting earned him a shush from the serving girl, who stepped aside to allow him entry.  “Amin…” quieter this time, the large man bowed respectfully before examining every visible inch of her for injury. “...you...look well.”

Katja stood a moment, her groggy brain gradually catching up to the turn of events.  Pushing all protocol aside, she threw herself at her  _ kepa _ , wrapping her arms about his waist with a delighted cry.  “Lewan!”  He fidgeted awkwardly within her embrace, earning a chuckle from his charge.

“I’ve missed you,  _ kepa _ .  I can’t tell you what a relief it is to see you firmly on your feet.”  With reluctance, she released him and stepped back to examine his face.  “When last I saw you there was very little of  _ you _ left to see.”

The small amount of healing she had been forced into demonstrating, combined with the ministrations of Nyko and the Krones, had done him a world of good.  Though small areas of yellowish bruises remained along one cheekbone and his jaw, his eyes were no longer swollen closed and his nose appeared to have healed well.  He walked with no signs of a limp and even her vice-like hug did not seem to cause him any discomfort.

“As I have missed you,  _ Amin. _ I have been filled in on some of the recent events by the Lore Keepers, and it seems that I have you to thank for my recovery.”

“I wish I had been able to do more.”  She lowered her eyes, her mouth twisting into a sort of grimace. “I could not believe what those animals had done to you.  They did not give me much time to make it right.”

“It is in the past. Let us speak of the future.”  Lewan had always had the ability to file occurrences neatly, tidily, and very quickly away once he considered them complete.  Apparently their weeks of mistreatment at the hands of the Commander fell into that category and he brushed them aside with a sweep of his hand as he made his way to one of the room’s two chairs.  “The Council will meet shortly.  I have been informed of the proceedings.”

Katja shot him an exasperated look.  For weeks they had been held apart and yet within minutes his sense of duty and purpose dulled any emotional response he was capable of showing.  She lowered herself into the opposite chair and laced her fingers together on her lap. “Heda does not seem confident that I will be accepted outright.”

“Nor am I, Amin.  The Clans have gone too long without one such as you in their midst. It will not be an easy adjustment.  Your gifts will be seen as sorcery, as a danger rather than an opportunity.  Those loyal to Heda may see you as a threat to her, while those loyal to the Azplana….”

“I know.”

“I do not know how the meeting will go, but we must consider both success, and failure.  Should the Council vote against you, you will have received a death sentence.  I have a plan that will see you free of the capital if that is the case, but you must promise me to follow it without question.”

And so, with the few hours left to them, the Kepa and the Amin discussed the options open to them, which were few. Their best hope was acceptance, though the chances of that were admittedly slim.  

Lewan excused himself at dawn, allowing her to dress in the newly made robes that Heda had provided.  The ceremony, familiar and routine as the sun rise itself, soothed her nerves somewhat.  She pulled the light grey gloves up past her wrists, watching the jet black of her fingers disappear within the soft leather. Her hood she left down.  Today was not a day for disguising or hiding; today she would be on display for the Council and she saw no reason to be coy. As she fastened the wide belt over the sash at her waist she exhaled deeply and sat on the edge of the bed to await her summons.

It felt like an eternity before one of the Commander’s guard arrived and spoke briefly with Farrah.  While Katja could not hear what was said, the concerned look that Farrah shot her spoke volumes.  

They made their way down the hall to the throne room, an angry surge of raised voices was audible even before they rounded the final corner.  Katja hesitated and she felt the guard pause a moment behind her before prodding her forward with a fist.  As the doors creaked open, she saw the  _ Bandrona _ locked in a heated argument around the table, some standing in an effort to drive home their respective points.  All conversation stopped immediately.

She caught Lewan’s frown first, followed by the nervous stares of the three Krones, all huddled at the edge of the room.  Although she knew that the gathering had just started, it appeared that patience would be in short supply; they hadn't waited for her arrival before launching into discussion. 

Heda held her hand up for the Council to be seated, waiting for the scraping of chairs to fade before she motioned Katja forward to stand at an open gap in the table. The girl complied and clasped her hands in front of her demurely. 

“Bandrona, we find ourselves today at a crossroads in our path to peace.” Lexa began the small speech she had prepared, careful to make eye contact with each of the ambassadors in turn.  “Today, I ask of you, taking into consideration the facts presented, to assess the fate of stranger before you now, but even more importantly, to map out the future of the Coalition and its direction, all in the span of a single vote.”

Nia made it quite obvious that she had no use for the Commander’s rhetoric, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling.  She did, however, hold her tongue, biding her time until the time was right for interjection. It would not do to seem petty. 

“Before you stands an impossibility. A person that should not be. One that remained hidden from us out of fear for many years but who has now stepped into our midst voluntarily, to share in our vision of prosperity and peace for our people.” Heda shifted her feet slightly, and steepled her fingertips. “No doubt you have heard many rumours.  They sprouted faster and more tenaciously than weeds during the ride back to the capital. One of the most fantastical of these is, unexpectedly, also the truth.”

“ _ Beja _ Heda, this is not a speech to the people, we do not need the build up.” The Plains Rider ambassador shared Nia’s impatience, and risked a steely glare from Titus to make his opinion known.  “Is she, or is she not?”

A muscle twitched along Lexa’s jaw but she merely nodded in acknowledgment of the question.  Titus stepped forward from his prowling about the perimeter and stood opposite the girl, a fearsome scowl rearranging his already disgruntled features.  Placing his palms against the table, he leaned forward, bald head gleaming in the torchlight.

“Introductions then.  Proceed.”

Katja swallowed heavily but rose to as full a height as her small frame could accommodate, extending her hands palm up slightly in front of her in what she hoped would be taken as a gesture of goodwill.  For the time being, she kept her mask in place, seeking to introduce them more slowly to the idea of her existence.  

“ _ Bandrona,  _ I am honoured.” She bowed slightly. “My name is Katja.  I come to you not from a Clan, nor with any hidden agenda, but rather as a servant of the peace that you all, blessings upon you, seek to build.”

Several of the ambassadors seemed surprised at her voice, deeper than expected and with that unfamiliar intonation that so unsettled Nyko.  Gone was the lazy slump of feigned boredom and all shifted to sit straight in their chairs.

“I am drawn by the pull of Fate, to the greatness that you have begun and to the wisdom of the Commander at your head.” She looked calmly at Heda, several of the council members following suit. “The Path will be long, and difficult.  War is all the people have known for centuries and all, perhaps, that they currently understand. If I am able to assist in any way, I would consider that a privilege.”

“I too have heard the rumours. Monster, false prophet, fool, charlatan and many others I will not sully your ears with.” Slowly she began to relax the mask and the vibrant green of her natural colour shine through.  

The Delfikru ambassador knocked over his chair in his haste to back away from the table. “Sorcerer!” He jabbed an accusing finger in her direction. “Abomination!”

“I am many things, but that I am not.” She replied calmly, watching the other squirm uncomfortably in their seats. “I am a healer, as many of you can attest to.” Here she eyed the Sangedakru representative. “I have done what I can to help your people in times of need, in times of illness, in times of attack.”

To her delight the Sangedakru man nodded and spoke. “It is true. She saved my own nephew when the army was attacked en route to Polis. And many others as well, I witnessed it myself.”

“She is a threat.” Nia canted her head to the side and drummed her fingertips against the table. “A threat from olden times that we have not yet even named, as the word itself is a fearsome reminder of the destructive power her kind can wreak. Healer,” the Azplana sniffed disdainfully, “as though that was the whole of it. Say it girl, for all of us to hear.  Speak it and make it true. What are you?”

“I am the darkness that balances the light of the flame.” The challenge had been plainly issued and Katja knew that she could not back down. “I am the night to Heda’s day, the moon to her sun.  I am the Shadow Spirit, or as it was called in days past:  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ .”

“What treachery is this?” Yuljedakru, this time, voiced disbelief. “The  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ are no more than legend.  They were eradicated long ago. None survived the Commander's Purges.”

“So you all have been taught,” Katja allowed, with a wry smile, “so you all thought.  There were indeed survivors however, and we have hid ourselves far from the swords and pikes of the Clans ever since.”

“The Krones were summoned,” Heda cut in, motioning the three ancient women towards the table, “to bear witness to these claims.  Lore Keepers, what say you?”

Kora bobbed her head respectfully before speaking. “There are three signs in the lore that serve to identify ‘ _ Kovakeryon _ , Ambassadors.  The first is described in text and verse as eyes of green flame, shifting and changing with the light in a way that has been called unholy, unnatural, or mesmerizingly beautiful, depending on whose rendition you accept. I had always assumed that this was just an exaggeration, empty words to tell a pretty tale, but as you can plainly see, it is not.”

Grumbles around the table as Katja kept her eyes straight ahead.  Kora ducked back into the group of women as Yuna stepped forward. “Second,” her creaky voice had the council straining to hear it, “are the  _ natshana _ markings. Images and patterns not unlike warrior tattoos that tell the tale of their bearer.  These though, in the light of the moon, give off a radiance of their own, pure and pale blue.  We have seen them, as have Heda and the  _ Fleimkepa _ .”

All eyes swivelled to Titus and he clenched his teeth, grudgingly nodding his agreement.  The murmurs were louder this time, with the Bandrona breaking off into smaller conversations amongst themselves. It took the Commander knocking a fist against the table to get them to settle.

Lastly Niah came towards the group, tottering slowly on her cane. “The third sign, is of a gift beyond the reach of normal men.  It is not the same for every  _ ‘Kovakeryon,  _ but changes person to person. Many of us, even some of you, have seen the healing nature of her touch. No potions, no salves or tonics, only simple contact of skin on skin.”

“We feel certain beyond a doubt that this girl is as she claims. The signs have been examined and found to be genuine,” Kora spoke once more as all three joined together, heads bowed deferentially to the Bandrona, “she is ‘ _ Kovakeryon _ .”

This time the table erupted in conversation.  Nia had clearly been doing a great deal of work in the background beforehand. The carefully worded skepticism of the ambassadors known to be more loyal to Azgeda than the Commander sounded as though they came from the woman’s own lips.  Even those loyal to Heda, much as Lewan suspected, voiced concern about the danger to the Coalition and fear for Lexa’s person.

“How do we know, Heda, that she does not simply seek the position of Commander herself?” Delfikru’s ambassador spat.  “How can we be sure that she means to help?”

“Because that is the role of the  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ .  To aid and advise, not to rule.  She has given her word.”  The Commander levelled a challenging look at the man, satisfied to see him shrink back into his seat.

“Her  _ word? _  Her  _ word?? _ ”  Nia’s incredulity was obvious. “You expect this Council to accept the word of this stranger as fact?  It is astounding that you would be so naive Heda.”  The Azgeda leader had no issue disregarding the Commander’s glare, stepping right up to the leader of the Coalition as though she were chastising an unruly child.  “These powers cannot be harnessed.  They cannot be controlled.  They are an abomination and a danger to everything we here have sought to build.  They must be destroyed.”

Katja held her tongue, knowing that to speak out of turn would do her no favours.  Instead she watched as Lexa raised her chin and crossed her arms over her chest.  The Commander and the Azplana stood locked for several moments, before the Boudalankru ambassador broke the tension.

“She must kneel.”  He rose from his chair and moved to stand beside Nia.  “She must kneel in front of the Coalition and the Commander and swear these things to be true.”

Lewan stepped into the light with a growl.  “‘Kovakeryon bow to no one.”  

Katja cut Nia’s triumphant grin short by stepping forward, approaching Heda as unthreateningly as she could.  “‘Kovakeryon bow to no one.  The  _  kepa _ speaks the truth.  However --”

“Amin…”  

Lewan’s protest was over before it began as Katja slowly lowered herself to her knees in front of the Commander.  “However, this one bows to the Coalition and its leader, by choice.  I am here to see Heda and her peace succeed.” 

“Heda do not allow this manipulator to fool you!  She says only what you want to hear.”  Nia snarled, circling Katja’s kneeling form with the aggression of a feral animal.  “Do not take her word at face value.  There are other ways to confirm her intentions.”

“What exactly do you suggest, Azplana?”  The Commander’s voice was unusually soft.  Katja held her eyes with determination and an honesty that shook Lexa to the core.  She barely registered the other woman’s words, too enveloped in the flickering greens to look away.  It was only when the cry for trial was picked up by several others around the table that Heda cleared her throat and motioned for silence.

“The Trial of Three, Commander.”  Nia grinned dangerously, knowing that she had Lexa backed into a corner in front of the other ambassadors.  “If the Old Ways are to be returned, then the Old Ways should be honoured.  And how better to do so than to test the girl by trial?  She shall prove her worth, prove her intentions in the arena.”  

Heda all but skewered the Ice Queen with her glare, watching as the infuriating grin spread wider on the loathsome woman’s face. So this had been her plan. Executed without so much as lifting a finger, but relying on the predictability of her wretched peers to snare her prize. “The Trial of Three had not been used for many years. Surely--..”

“And there has not been a ‘ _ Kovakeryon _ for many years, Heda.  Surrrrely…” she drew the word out in mockery, “there is no clearer opportunity than this to respect our traditions.”

Lexa was trapped and she knew it. To deny Nia’s demand would be to show doubt. She could feel everyone In the room staring at her.  Rarely had the weight of command ever felt so burdensome. Her mind quickly raced through who would put forth by the clans in the arena and who would be an appropriate counter. She looked slightly to her right, pretending to stare thoughtfully into the torchlight, but using the time to sneak a look at Lewan. The priest was stone faced and unreadable. 

“Heda?” Nia’s glee was unmistakable. 

“Very well.” The Commander barked, more sharply than she intended. “Council members, are you in agreement?” All but Lexa herself raised a hand in the affirmative. “The Trial of Three will be conducted at noon tomorrow.  As is custom, the Challenger will face three opponents in succession, chosen from the Clans by random lot. Successful completion marks the end of this debate and the return of  _ ‘Kovakeryon _ to the  _ Kongeda _ .”

“Failure exposes the false claims of the challenger and results in her death.” The Delfikru representative, siding strongly with Azgeda, finished Heda’s statement. 

“Of course. Now,” and she turned her attention to Katja, only a tiny crease in her brow belying her worry, “name your champion.”

“I will have none fight for me, Heda.  I name myself.”

The Commander stood speechless. She had been certain that the girl would name Lewan, her protector, to represent her in the arena. He looked a capable combatant,  broad and muscled in comparison to her petite build.  She glanced again in his direction and saw again no reaction. No outrage, no concern, no admonishment of the girl’s foolishness. In fact, though she brushed it off as a trick of the lighting, she swore she saw the tiniest of smiles tug at the corners of his mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for the continued support. The holidays have given me way more time than usual to spend holed up under a blanket in the basement, scribbling maniacally. Hope you all have had an amazing break, for those that get one, and Happy New Year to everyone!
> 
> Please, pretty please, as a Christmas present to your humble author, comment, kudo, pm, whatever else you can think of to let me know what you think. I'll also answer any questions you may have about the story, anything that was unclear or that has been bothering you or that you're just downright curious about, here or over at my poor neglected Tumblr: ohheyhuarache


	25. The Trial of Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nia gets her Trial and as usual, has something up her sleeve.

The grounds were frequently used, if the permanent benches and carefully groomed sand were any indication.  Along the middle of the far side of the oblong area was a raised section, covered to protect from the elements and filled with twelve individual seats, one for each of the _bandrona_.  At the centre sat a copy of the great throne, its curving, twisting wood fanning out from the seat back with ominous grace. 

Katja warred with her nerves, adjusting for the dozenth time the thin leather straps that fastened her sheathes to her back.  Lewan had been roughly hauled off to the crowd, relegated to the role of highly partial observer.  There were no calming words other than the ones she herself could conjure.

A roar went up from the crowd as the Ambassadors took their seat, followed by the Commander.  The lithe young man in front of her, destined to be one of her three opponents, rolled his shoulders to loosen up while shooting her a broad grin.  Heda was speaking but she could make out none of the words, though each emphatic statement was cheered at great volume.

At last, the four combatants were lead through the small stone tunnel and into the arena to even greater applause.  Katja caught Lewan’s eye from where he was seated to the left of the Commander’s section.  He nodded calmly and touched the tip of his index finger to first his nose, then his forehead, a quiet message to center and focus.

They were brought to a halt in a neat line in front of Heda, who drew all eyes to her as she once again began to speak.

“We are gathered here today to witness the Trial of Three, called by the Council to judge the worthiness of this stranger to be called a member of the Coalition.  Victory in the Trial will reinstate the position of ‘ _Kovakeryon_ on the Council as an advisor to me…”  Lexa waited a moment while the murmuring died down, “and failure will result in execution.  This is a battle to submission.  A fighter may yield at any time and their decision is to be respected without question.  Is that clear?”

“Sha, Heda.”  All four voiced their agreement, though three of the four looked none to pleased by it.  Submission was a rare condition in Clan fights and seen as the more cowardly option relative to death.

“Very well.  Podakru, you shall go first, followed by Boudalankru if required, and finally Azgeda.  Do not shame yourselves or your Clans with dishonourable combat.  Show yourself worthy to be called a warrior of the Coalition army and may the gods point the way to the truth.”

“Sha, Heda.”  Again, in unison, they responded before the Boudalankru and Azgeda fighters were escorted to the sidelines.  Ontari, the dark-haired Azgeda choice, glanced back over her shoulder with a look of pure malice, clearly eager for the Trial to reach the third round for her opportunity.  

Ashok took his place at the centre of the arena, armed with a very long, thin blade and a large square of light netting.  It was weaponry that Katja was unfamiliar with, and not commonly seen on the battlefield, but rather more ceremonial and favoured by the athletic warriors of Podakru for situations such as these.  She drew her own twin swords and gave them a practice twirl, feeling their weight and balance for the first time in weeks.  Nia had chosen the Trial carefully, knowing that Katja was both weakened and out of practice.

“ _Stot au!_ ”

Katja barely had time to react to Heda’s command to begin as Ashok quickly whipped the net towards her legs, hanging on to one corner and using it as a sort of weighted lash.  She leapt the rope and landed gracefully in a crouch, ducking a rapid jab from the man’s blade. She backed off slightly, earning jeers from the crowd.

He circled her slowly, looking for an opportunity to distract or entangle her.  She circled with him and watched his body language for signs of an advance.  Although slight in build, she knew better than to underestimate him, ignoring several feints to her weak side with his blade and paying very close attention to the movements of the net.

“You do not fight like a barbarian.”  He grinned at her down the length of his sword, blue eyes twinkling with what could only be described as mischief.

“Do you think me one?”

“I heard tell of a filthy wildling caught in the woods…” he paused to hop forward, their weapons clashing together with a loud clang as he tested her defenses, “but it appears that my sources were quite blind.”

Katja snorted derisively and pushed forward, alternating the blades in sweeping arcs.  If she could get close enough to him, the length of his own weapon would become a hindrance and the danger of the net would be largely mitigated.  He was no stranger to this tactic and stepped backwards as quickly as she advanced, maintaining a cushion of space.

“Is it your words or your net that I should be more concerned with, Podakru?”  She spun left as he flung the woven trap once more in her direction.

“Whichever you find more intriguing.”  The cheeky grin returned as he spun the net idly in hand.  She could only shake her head at his cockiness.  

He dipped his left shoulder slightly then, a tell that she had picked up to indicate an incoming sweep, only to be surprised by a straight stab with his sword.  She deflected it at the last moment and went on the offensive, charging in too quickly for him to counter with distance.  He was forced to parry her blows right at the hilt of his sword, the long blade too awkward to maneuver in such a tight space.  He did, however, manage to wrap the net cleverly around one of her forearms, immobilizing that sword, as well as her hand.

Katja leaned with force against her free sword, which pushed his blade ever closer to his face.  She relaxed her mask, allowing the unnatural green of her eyes to emerge, hoping to unsettle him.  Instead, the smile that graced his lips and the spark of something less than sinister in his own blue eyes ended up momentarily distracting _her_.

“Stunning.”  Unphased, he lept backwards suddenly, using her own weight to create forward momentum and pulled hard on the net.  The shift threw her completely off balance as her shoulder was wrenched towards him and the rest of her body followed.

Katja stumbled but blocked a blow with the blunt pommel of his sword that had been aimed at her face.  Recovering quickly she used forward motion to her advantage, rolling neatly in under the length of his blade and driving her booted foot into the inside of his knee.  She rose swiftly, ignoring his yelp of pain and landed an uppercut under his chin, a satisfying click of teeth echoing in her ears as she connected.

Now reeling, he dropped the netting and focussed on fending off her assault with his sword and fist.  She could tell from his movements that he was heavily favouring the knee she had injured and guessed that he would be overprotective of the area.  She was right.  Faking an attack to that side, she waited until he moved his sword to parry and then brought down her stronger sword hand with as much force as she could muster right at the base of his blade.  The vibration made her hand ache but had the desired effect, as his weapon dropped uselessly from his fingers.

Still she did not let up, shoving into him with her shoulder while kicking out the heel of his injured leg.  They went down in a heap, sending a puff of sand up into the air that momentarily obscured the audience’s view.  When it settled, the saffron of Katja’s sash was the first thing to emerge, showing her straddling her opponent and pinning his wrists on either side of his head.

“Yield.”

Instead of responding he tried to twist out from beneath her but she was ready for it, shifting her weight to counter his movement.   _Crunch_.  The force of her headbutt broke Ashok’s nose, and a trail of crimson ran swiftly down his face to form a dark, sticky patch in the dirt.

“Yield. Or I will break other parts that I’m sure you’re much more fond of.”

“I YIELD!”  He yelled loud enough for the Commander and the adjudicator to hear and the man raised an arm to signal the end of the bout.  Bloodied and battered, Ashok still managed a grin.  

“ _Komba raun!_ ”  Lexa released a breath she didn’t know she had been holding, and ordered the two warriors to approach the throne.  

Katja untangled her netted sword, wiped both blades along the outsides of her thighs and returned them to their sheathes.  She offered no aid to her opponent, knowing that his pride would see him refuse it and instead strode calmly to stand in front of Heda.  Ashok, hobbled by his knee, came slowly behind her at a limp.

“Ashok kom Podakru, you have yielded.  Do you acknowledge that the fight was fair?”  Lexa let her gaze linger a moment longer than proper on Katja before shifting to pierce the dishevelled Lake Clan fighter with a stare.

“The fight was fair, Heda.”  He put his right arm across his chest, fist over his heart.

“The first Trial has been passed!”  Heda raised her voice for all to hear.  “Both fought well and with honour.  Let us proceed with the second Trial.  Bring out Jonas kom Boudalankru!”

From the tunnel came a roar that sounded barely human.  Ashok retreated into the crowd with a quick bow to both Katja and the Commander.  Jonas, the fighter from Boudalankru, came charging out into the light, his massive arms bare despite the chill, save for a pair of leather bracers at his wrists.  He was a mountain of a man, each of his thighs easily as thick as Katja’s waist.  His choice of weapon was a war hammer that she doubted she could even lift.  From the smug look on both his and the Boudalankru ambassador’s face, it was clear they assumed this would be a quick victory for their champion.  
  
Katja remained still, casting a quick look to Lewan who simply nodded.  Neither had any concerns about the man’s size.  Bulk hinders speed, and weapon accuracy with a hammer was difficult to attain.  She turned to face Heda as her opponent joined her in front of the Throne.   
  
“Jonas kom Boudalankru, do you swear to abide by the rules of the Trial, to fight with honour, and to spare a yielding opponent?”  The Commander looked pale, and fought to keep her eyes from sliding over to the slight girl on the right.  Her heart had sunk when the opponent draw had been announced.  Jonas was one of the fiercest fighters in the entire Coalition army, not only due to his size but also a battle fury that terrified even Reapers.  She had seen him cleave a man in two without even breaking a sweat.  Heda thought the girl completely overmatched and had pushed strongly for a fight to submission rather than death.  To lose Katja to Nia’s trickery, now, so soon after their conversations began to lose the stilted formality of captor/captive, was not something she was willing to chance.   
  
“Sha Heda, I swear it.”  The large man thumped his chest with his fist and nodded. “I will not kill her.  That honour will belong to you when she fails.”   
  
Lexa glanced quickly at Katja but noticed no change in her demeanour at the insult.  The placid calm in and of itself was unnerving.  She could feel Titus stir slightly to her right but stalled a moment longer, allowing more time for the girl to catch her breath.  Jonas was fresh, whereas Katja had only just finished defeating the net fighter.  She could only, however, delay for so long.  

“Very well.  To the center.”  They complied.  

“ _STOT AU_ !”   
  
Based on the quick reaction of Ashok the previous round, Katja anticipated an immediate attack from her new opponent and was not disappointed.  With unexpected speed, Jonas lunged forward, bringing his hammer in an upwards arc that, despite his assurances to the Commander, would have killed her if it connected.   
  
Lexa tightened her grip on the arms of her throne and caught Nia’s smirk out of the corner of her eye.   
  
Leaning as far backwards as physics allowed, Katja managed to avoid decapitation and as she straightened, drew both swords from their sheathes.  The hammer came again, this time horizontally, and so it repeated, the small figure of the girl dancing out of the way of a furious series of attacks from the enormous man.  She had to admit that he was not as oafish and slow as appearances would have led her to believe.  He came with a tireless energy and fast pace that soon had her breathing heavily.  She knew that the weight of the hammer would eventually wear him down as well, and hoped to be able to withstand the onslaught until then.

His footwork, for such a large man, was impeccable, and his positioning as a result was difficult to find any sort of gap in.  She found herself needing to approach closer than she would have liked, and well within striking distance of that cursed hammer in order to overcome her shorter arms and weapons.  

On one such pass, he grabbed out at her as she darted by and managed to lock his fingers around her forearm, planting his foot and using her own speed to fling her like a tiny projectile towards the edge of the arena.  Katja had little time to orient herself before the side boards that separated the sand from the spectators loomed large in her field of vision.  With a sickening thump she hit the wooden planks back-first, forcing the air from her lungs and blurring her vision momentarily.

To Heda, watching from her throne, it was as though the next few moments played out in agonizing slow motion.  Jonas stomped his way towards Katja’s prone, unmoving body and with one massive, meaty hand, wrapped it around her throat.  As though she were made of paper, he hoisted her off the ground and off of her feet, her booted toes dangling a good foot from the sand. _Yield._ The Commander sat forward in her seat, praying to call an end to the fight quickly, as soon as the words were spoken.   _For god’s sake, yield!_

As Katja’s eyes regained the ability to focus, the first thing she saw was her opponent’s scarred, smirking face.  She clasped both hands futilely around his wrist but refrained from squirming, not wanting to encourage him to tighten his grip.  He seemed unsure of what exactly to do with her, like a slightly surprised cat that had finally caught that tormenting mouse.  He held her far enough away from his body, preventing her from attempting to land any blows, so she did the only thing she could think of, dipping her chin and biting down as hard as she could into the flesh of the man’s hand.

The metallic taste of blood hit her tongue as an enraged yowl came from her opponent.  The desperate move had the desired effect however, and as he unconsciously drew his hands back in towards himself and his hold loosened, she saw an opening.  Reaching out with both hands, she gripped the back of his right bicep and pulled herself further forward and stretched as horizontally as possible within his grip.  

The look of realization on Jonas’ face hit just a second before her right knee impacted his jaw.  He dropped her like a rock and sunk to one knee while she rolled sideways out of harm’s way, shaking her head as though to clear it.  The crowd roared its approval.

She made swiftly to retrieve her weapons but he recovered quickly, charging after her like an angered bull.  Spinning, Katja dodged the first flurry of punches aimed at her head by ducking and rolling around behind him.  She caught the dull metallic gleam of his war hammer laying forgotten in the sand and was struck by an idea.  If she could not lift the hammer to strike him, she would lower him to strike the hammer.

Carefully she baited him, renewing the dangerous leap and dance that had gotten her flung earlier in the bout.  With each miss he got angrier and swung harder, eager to beat her to a pulp.  She had lasted far longer than any had expected and it was a serious blow to his ego.  Amongst the cheers and calls of encouragement he could hear the mockery and cat calls from some of his fellow warriors at his inability to finish her off.  It made his blood boil; it also made him sloppy.

 As he threw his considerable weight behind yet another wild swing, she ducked quickly under his arm and threw her own about his waist.  Sliding her foot well foward into the heel of his boot, she felt the already off-balance man tilt dangerously backwards and jerked with all of her strength.  Jonas’ arms flailed in a futile attempt to keep upright, but her body weight attached to his back ensured that the only way to go was down.  Rotating as they both fell, she propelled him towards the ground, hoping that her timing and distance were on the mark.

The large man’s head narrowly missed the corner of the metallic hammer head, instead hitting with a resounding crack against the thick wooden shaft.  His body went slack immediately, pinning her legs and half of her torso under his bulk.  She lay there a moment, lungs burning from the effort, before worming her way out from underneath him and dusting the sand from the creases of her robes.

She could barely stand, having expended so much energy that even breathing seemed too much of a strain, but she knew that appearances, in this case, were everything.  Straightening, she started towards the Commander, chin high and shoulders squared, stooping only to pick up her swords and resheath them.

As Katja approached the raised section of stands she could feel Heda’s stare, but chose to seek out the Boudalankru ambassador, giving him a small nod of acknowledgement before saluting the Commander.

Lexa eyed the girl closely, seeing beneath the facade to the exhaustion that she was desperately trying to hide.  Impressive.  Heda flicked a look at the adjudicator, who grabbed Katja’s wrist and raised it high, signalling her victory.  They hauled Jonas’ unconscious body from the arena unceremoniously by his feet.

No sooner had he disappeared than Ontari stalked into the center of the arena with a sort of feline grace, reminding Katja a great deal of the large cat that had been her travelling companion.  The girl’s teeth were bared, as though she knew no other facial expression than the murderous hatred that currently settled on her dark features.

“The Second Trial has been passed!”  Heda’s voice boomed out over the crowd, beginning another surge of cheers.  Bets on “the little one” for the last bout had made some men very wealthy, and her determination was winning her admirers throughout the gathered Clansfolk.  Truthfully though, in a fight against an Azgeda opponent, it was not difficult to be the crowd favourite.  “One Trial remains, that of Ontari kom Azgeda!  Do you both swear to abide by the rules of the Trial?”

They did.  Katja risked a quick glance at the Azplana, seated over the Commander’s right shoulder and shivered briefly at the malignant curl of the woman’s lips.  Nia was smiling directly at her. The older woman nodded her head in greeting and awaited Heda’s call to begin.

“ _Stot au!”_

The Azgeda fighter favoured traditional weapons suited to both her size and the arena: a double-edged short sword and a small leather buckler for protection.  A long dagger sat sheathed at her hip and one poked its hilt out from the top of the girl’s tall boot.  Disarming her would require patience.

They were evenly matched.  Ontari possessed more cunning than either of her previous opponents and a speed that even Ashok could not hope to match.  She calmly probed Katja’s defenses, noting with satisfaction that the girl was utterly exhausted, but for the time being able to parry her attacks.

Every blow that Katja blocked sapped her energy.  Every swing and step leeched from her dwindling stores, and the worst of it was that she knew the Azgeda knew it too.  Her opponent was playing with her, wearing her down as she had just done to Jonas.

She ducked a swing of the buckler and jabbed out with one of her swords, hitting nothing but air as the fresher combatant let out a laugh.  Again the girl came at her and this time Katja felt the blade of Ontari’s sword bite into the skin of her cheekbone, narrowly missing her eye. She scrambled backwards and touched her fingertips to the flow of black that trickled down to drip from her chin.  The smirk on the other girl’s face as Ontari flicked Katja’s blood off her blade was infuriating.

“ _Center!”_

She heard a voice from the crowd, lifted above the noise of the cheers and yelling with a clarity that startled her out of her thoughts.  Lewan.  Katja chanced a quick look at her teacher and he repeated the tap of his fingers against his chin and nose.  She nodded and turned swiftly to block a strike.

That single word served to energize her and she felt a familiar tingle as the power coalesced into a burning pit in the middle of her chest.  Outwards it spread, down her arms, down her legs, into her fingers and along the length of her blade.  The crowd quieted somewhat, feeling more than seeing a shift in something intangible.  Ontari hesitated, eyeing the fierce glow of renewed determination in Katja’s eyes with uncertainty.

It was all she needed to press her opponent.  Every move, every swing felt now like a comfortable extension of herself; her tired feet ached but did as they were asked, artfully moving around a startled Ontari with otherworldly grace.  Katja met her opponent’s blows not with glancing blocks but resounding clangs, boosted by adrenaline and the encouraging shouts from the spectators.

The blood from the cut on her cheek ran down into the corner of her mouth, but she ignored it, allowing it to drip a trail that marked her steps through the sand.  Ontari had been disadvantaged only a moment, and now attacked with the same confident skill with which she has started the fight.  It took all of Katja’s concentration to keep up.  

It really was something to behold, the two warriors darting and diving around each other like whirlwinds. Each gain was hard fought, and inevitably followed by a retreat as the other retaliated until Katja managed land a particularly hard blow to Ontari’s shield.  As the Azgeda stumbled backwards, Katja stepped in, planting her shoulder squarely into Ontari’s stomach and driving her to the ground.

Her opponent paused on all fours, breathe heaving in great gasps as she tried to recover.  Katja prowled forwards warily, striking a solid kick to the girl’s ribs and flipping her over onto her back.  Ontari regarded her with a look of pure hatred, as she spat a wad of black blood from her own mouth into the dirt.  Katja’s eyes widened, staring at the dark patch in confusion.  

 _Natblida?!_  

She saw the quick flash of a grin before two fistfuls of sand were thrown into her eyes, stinging and scraping the tender flesh like nettles.  She heard the cry of rage as Ontari got to her feet and charged, and raised her weapons in as defensive a stance as she could.  It did very little against the thump of the Azgeda’s weight against her thighs, sending her backwards as they rolled together, coming to a stop near the center of the arena.

Ontari was on top of her and though she bucked wildly, she could not dislodge the girl, nor clear the scratching sand from her eyes.  Ontari spat again, this time splattering Katja’s face with her bloody spittle.  “Did you think yourself special?  Yours is not the only nightblood outside the Coalition’s reach.”  Her fist connected with Katja’s lip and split it wide.

“How...how is it possible?”  Katja grunted at the pain but managed to catch the next blow, as hazy and blurred as her vision was, in her hand, stopping it inches from her face.

A bark of laughter from Ontari was all the answer she received, along with a punishing strike to her ribs from the Azgeda’s free hand.  Her opponent seemed to take great pleasure in inflicting whatever pain she could en route to what she clearly assumed would be a victory over the stranger.

Katja, rather than tensing, relaxed.  In the fist she grasped she had the contact she had been seeking.  Abruptly she dropped her barriers and let the rush of emotion flood in from Ontari.  Shame, fear, anger, apprehension….it struck her as hard as would a punch, but she grit her teeth and and sifted through it in milliseconds.  She pitied the girl, if this had been her life.  It was no wonder that she had become the coiled ball of rage atop her.  

She felt the energy condense in the palm of her hand against Ontari’s knuckles and met the surprised girl’s eyes with an apologetic look before flooding the worst of the memories and emotions back at the dark-haired warrior in a concentrated mass.  The reaction was instantaneous.  Ontari’s head flew back, the muscles in her neck straining as she screamed, clawing at her head with her other hand and trying to scramble away from Katja.  

The sound was heart-wrenching. Katja had never before used her abilities to harm another living thing.  She was a healer of all wounds: physical, spiritual, and emotional; to cause such anguish, even to someone intent on her own demise, went against everything she had ever stood for.  She lay motionless for a moment, trying to reconcile her actions as necessity before her will to survive took over and she got to her knees.  Lunging forward she grabbed the still screaming girl by the ankles, causing Ontari to topple face first into the sand.   Katja crawled quickly onto the flailing girl, gripping her wrists and using her weight to keep her pinned.

Ontari’s hands were wrenched painfully behind her back and held in place by Katja’s hand and torso.  She shoved them further upwards and was rewarded with a grunt of discomfort from the Azgeda warrior.  Using her free hand, Katja dropped her sword and rammed Ontari’s face into the coarse sand of the arena floor, grinding the grains against the girl’s skin momentarily before yanking her head back by a fist full of hair.  Both were breathing heavily, gasping from exertion.

“Yield!”

“ _Jok of._ ”  Ontari’s growled reply carried a note of quiet fury.

Katja again shoved her opponent’s face into the ground, holding it there for longer in the hopes that the difficulty breathing would convince Ontari to cede the match.  The Azgeda girl’s legs thrashed frantically before Katja once again pulled her head back.

“Yield, there is no shame in it.”

“Perhaps not to you filth,” Ontari ground out amidst coughing fits, spitting a mouthful of sand and keeping her eyes closed against the invading dirt, “submission for me is the same as death.”

Katja frowned at the statement and could not decipher whether Ontari meant the Commander, the Azplana, or someone entirely different.  Regardless, the girl’s stubbornness would require harsher measures.  A third time she pressed the dark-haired warrior’s face first into the loose sand, ignoring the frenzied kicks of Ontari’s legs as she mercilessly restricted access to oxygen.  Slowly she felt the girl’s muscles relax, all signs of struggle fading with one last kick of her feet.  Katja held the position a few moments longer, giving a final shove to the back of the Azgeda’s head.  There was no reaction.  

Katja let go of her grip and sat back resting a moment atop her seemingly unconscious opponent as the adjudicator raised his arm to signal her victory.  A cheer grew slowly in the crowd until it was a roar, the wave of sound almost deafening.  The Trial of Three had been passed.  She had done it.

She pushed herself unsteadily off of Ontari’s still form, beginning to make her way over to where the match adjudicator waited in front of Heda’s throne.  Looking up, Katja caught the glint of a blade rising above the Commander, the cold light gleaming menacingly as it reached the peak of its swing.

“NOOO!”  With what little energy she had left she sprinted towards the Commander, loosing two of the throwing blades from her belt before even completing her first stride.  Both found their intended target, with one pinning the hand holding the blade to a pillar by the throne and the second sinking hilt-deep into the neck of a wide-eyed Nia.  The Azplana’s sword clattered from her lifeless fingers, bouncing harmlessly from Heda’s knee to lie across the toes of her boots.

All attention was focussed on the seats of the _Bandrona_ as the remaining eleven shrunk away from the Azgeda leader’s traitorous body and linked to shield the Commander from further attack.  Titus fussed about like mother hen, checking Heda for wounds and ordering the guards to clear a path for them back to the Tower.  No one, in the excitement, noticed that Katja had made it no further than that first step after killing the Ice Queen.  An arm of steel had wrapped around her neck as she started her run, jerking her backwards into the warm body of her attacker, who tsked in disapproval and chuckled darkly in her ear.  She felt the tip of a blade poke threateningly into her back.  “Next time, make sure to kill me.”

“Heda!”  Ontari’s voice rang clear in the confusion and everyone, including the Commander, stopped to turn towards the center of the arena once more.  Having seen the assassination attempt fail, the warrior had decided to carry out her part of Nia’s original plan.  With Nia dead, the leadership of the Azgeda clan was hers for the taking.

“Ontari kom Azgeda the fight is over!  Step down!”  Heda’s frown obscured most of her eyes, leaving only the black war paint to signal her displeasure.  “You dishonour yourself and your clan.”

“The only dishonour here is permitting this _thing_ to live.”  Ontari could see members of Heda’s personal guard circle around to flank her on either side.  She would have to be quick. Her feigned unconsciousness had bought her enough time to do what needed to be done. “You put your people in danger for your own ego Heda.  These are powers not to be trusted, not to be meddled with.  My people knew it generations ago as surely as they do now.”

“The Trials were agreed upon by the Council and have been passed.  These are our laws, these are _your_ laws.”  Lexa’s struggled to appear calm, the other girl’s words giving a hint as to what she intended.

“I reject such laws that would jeopardize Clan lives, as should you.”  Ontari spun to address the gathered masses, raising her voice.  “Your Commander does not protect you!  She is driven by greed and a lust for power!  Nia kom Azgeda saw it, I see it, and if nothing is done, the Coalition becomes a puppet of a lunatic unfit to hold the title of Heda.”

Murmurs broke out among the crowd as people eyed the Commander nervously.  Some appeared to warm to Ontari’s tirade, their fear of what Katja represented far greater than any benefits they could see.  Others, disgusted by Azgeda’s lack of honour, grumbled their disagreement.

“I shall deal with this as it should have been dealt with well before arriving in Polis.”  Ontari shifted slightly, planting her feet in a staggered stance and tightening her forearm around her captive’s throat. She could see the guards approaching out of the corners of her eyes.  “I, Ontari kom Azgeda, rid the Clans of this menace.  I take her spirit into me, I absorb her powers for the good of the people.”

Lewan let out a strangled cry as he flew past the Commander’s guard to the attacker’s left.  To his horror, still several steps away, he watched the tip of Ontari’s sword slide, as though in slow motion, between Katja’s ribs and out through her front, black and glistening in the sun. His fist connected with the Azgeda girl’s face just as she released her captive and he followed through with another, and another, knocking Ontari to the ground and pummeling her until she was unrecognizable.

Lexa’s quiet “No…” went unheard by most, save for Titus, whom she shrugged off as she leapt down from the stands, taking off at a run.  She ignored Lewan’s battery of the offender and made straight for the wounded warrior in grey.

Katja, wide-eyed and open-mouthed in surprise, made eye contact with the Commander as she slowly sunk to her knees, hands gripping the blade protruding from her chest in disbelief.  There was no pain per se; she struggled to process the panicked look on Heda’s face as the edges of her vision began to cloud.  She felt steady hands grip her shoulders, though whose they were she couldn’t say. The sun felt impossibly bright, the air impossibly cold, and as her eyes slid shut she welcomed the peace that the darkness brought.

_______

 

 **_Stot au_ ** \- start; begin

 ** _Jok of_** \- fuck off, or fuck you

 **_Komba roun_ ** \- approach, come around

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy, and Happy New Year everyone. Extra long chapter to bring in 2018 with a bang.


	26. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit grim on all fronts. Nyko and Lewan work to stabilize Katja, while the Commander has an unexpected confrontation that leaves her uncharacteristically rattled.

The look of pained confusion on Katja's face as she met Lexa's eyes was something that would haunt the Commander's nightmares for weeks to come. The Azgeda blade ran black, the blood from the girl's torso combining with that from the wounds on her hands as she wrapped her fingers around the protruding blade.

Lewan spun away from Ontari's lifeless body, his own face contorted in an expression of black-splattered anguish as he scrambled on his knees, barely managing get a hold on his slumping charge before she hit the sand. Effortlessly, his lifted her by a fistful of cloth at her shoulders, dropping his other arm behind her knees and curling her gently into his arms, careful to avoid jostling the sword. The look he shot Lexa was hard, practiced, but underneath Heda caught the edge of panic and it spurred her into action.

"Farrah!" The call echoed above the commotion of the arena and in a second, the imposing guard was at the Commander's side. "Farrah, you have command of the guard, take Titus, summon Nyko and the Krones to chambers. Protect the priest as you would me, get them to the Tower. Do it _now_."

The woman thumped her fist to her chest and bellowed to rally her fellow guards. Lexa touched Lewan briefly on the shoulder shifting his focus back to her.

"Go with Farrah, my guards will see you safe to the Tower. I will come as soon as I am able but I must see to things here first. Whatever you need you will have it, you have my word," she hesitated a moment as though there were more to say, but then rose and left them, squaring her shoulders and striding back towards the throne.

* * *

 

It was over an hour before the Commander found herself sprinting through the network of underground tunnels towards the Tower. As much as she had wanted to go immediately, the treachery of Azgeda and the confusion of the Trial left the Coalition a powder keg of uncertainty.

Her first move was to declare an end to Nia's rule and banish even the mention of the woman's name from her ears. She ordered both Ontari's and the Ice Queen's bodies disposed of as traitors, withholding them from proper ceremony and ensuring their Clan was given no chance to pay any sort of respects to their fallen leader. She then installed Roan, Nia's only son, as Azgeda's new king. His allegiances weren't exactly clear, but Lexa had little choice seeing that succession in the northern Clan was familial. The last thing she needed right now was accusations of meddling in Azgeda affairs.

To the nervous, milling crowd, she offered reassurance, confirming the successful completion of the Trial, the re-institution of the ' _Kovakeryon_ to the Council, and the organization of a great feast to celebrate upon the recovery of the victorious warrior.

Though Heda appeared composed and focused, her thoughts were elsewhere. She mentally counted the seconds and minutes as they passed, marking when Farrah would have reached the Tower door, the elevator, the chamber; when Nyko would have arrived…Every ounce of her being pulled her towards the injured girl but she fought it, staying until all questions were answered and the atmosphere somewhat settled.

Finally, as the last of the Bandrona spoke their acceptance of her decrees, she stalked off towards the entrance to the tunnel leading to the Tower, careful to keep her steps measured until she was out of sight of the arena before breaking into a full run.

The elevator creaked noisily, interrupting the Commander's rapid fire thoughts. Lexa took a deep breath and smoothed out the material of her sash, forcing her features into their normal, imposing arrangement. The doors had barely opened enough to fit between them but Heda slid gracefully through the tiny gap, turning left and making her way towards the end of the corridor.

A serving girl rushed by in the other direction, wide-eyed and carrying a large pile of tousled, black-stained sheets. Lexa picked up her pace, not bothering to knock before pushing open the thick wooden door. Titus fluttered towards her immediately, but she brushed him aside with an impatient wave of her hand. She had no patience for his council. Nyko and the priest barely acknowledged her presence from their position around the bed, as both were stooped in concentration. The Azgeda sword, now removed from the girl's torso, glistened threateningly on the nearby table.

"Report." Dozens of questions - how is she?, what is the damage?, will she live?, was there poison? - threatened to spill from her lips but Lexa knew no other approach than that of Commander. She clasped her hands behind her back to stop their desire to fidget and stepped towards the two frantically working healers.

"Commander," Nyko offered a quick bob of his head in greeting, "as you saw, the sword entered from the back and exited through the front. The angle of the thrust was fairly straight, and the sword was, odd to say, too sharp to cause a lot of tearing damage. It is a clean puncture, but in a very dangerous location."

Lewan watched the exchange carefully, noting the muscle that worked along the Commander's jaw, belying her otherwise calm facade. The concern that the woman had shown at the arena, and this urgent visit suggested that whatever Katja had been doing to curry favour, she had been at least somewhat successful.

Heda risked a look at the girl, noting with alarm that her face was ashen, a sort of sickly grey that made her appear even paler than usual. The fingers of one black inked hand lay, still and relaxed in stark contrast to the white of the sheets. "You," she looked at Lewan now and the permanent worry line that deepened between his brows, "tell us what must be done. My healers are excellent and familiar with _natblidas_ ; they are at your disposal."

"Commander," he managed a bow while maintaining strong pressure against the wound, "we are doing what we can. The _Amin_ is, in spite of what some may think, only human. We believe, " he shot Nyko a respectful nod, " that the blade missed the vital organs, but did hit bone. There were slivers of it along the margin of the wound."

"The fact that she has remained somewhat stable," Nyko added in, "is as good a sign as any. Had an organ been punctured, we would certainly have lost her by now."

Lexa's chest squeezed painfully and she hid her discomfort by spinning to examine the sword. It was simple, straight and savagely sharp. The mere sight of it reminded her of Ice Queen's attempt on her life and the cowardly actions of Nia's prized pupil. Impulsively, she picked it up, shifting it from hand to hand several times before whipping it end over end at the mantel. It struck with a solid thud and quivered with the impact, the steel of the blade now burning orange from the reflection of the firelight.

Both men paused to watch it a moment, surprised by the the Commander's display of frustration. Titus placed a hand on her arm and whispered something too low for either of them to hear, to which Heda nodded. The lanky man left quietly, leaving on the Commander and the two healers with the girl.

"As much as I would like to remain, there are Coalition matters that require my attention. I will return as frequently as possible, but expect to be summoned immediately should there be any change in her condition. Is that clear?"

"Sha, Heda." Nyko answered, preparing a smooth paste known to act as a clotting agent in a stone bowl. "You will be the first to know, I swear it."

" _Mochof_ , Nyko." Lexa lingered, approaching the bed once more and hesitating, flexing her fingers thoughtfully before shifting to pin Lewan with a uncertain stare. "Can she…not heal herself?"

"I do not know Heda, she has not faced an injury such as this before and the limits of the gift are not known. Under normal circumstances, she herself acts as a sort of siphon or filter for the illness and pain of the other. It seems unlikely she could do the same for herself." He met her eyes evenly. "It is safest, I believe, to proceed as though she cannot."

"Very well," Heda hid her disappointment and turned to the door. "I will leave you to your work. With Nia dead, and victory at the Trial, I'm certain you both know how important it is that she live."

"Sha, Heda."

The Commander left without another word.

The remainder of the day stretched on like an eternity. Titus had sent riders out for Roan, now King of Azgeda, who had not been in Polis at the time of Nia's death. It was no secret that there was no love lost between mother and son, and Lexa figured the news would be met with a smile. Honouring his right to the throne had been strategic, an olive branch in search of a new, more hospitable relationship with the northern nation. It remained to be seen whether or not he would come to the table.

She left Sadie in charge of celebration plans. Premature surely, but best to proceed as though the ' _Kovakeryon's_ recovery was a certainty. She herself had no interests in deciding courses and seating arrangements, she barely had time to eat a plain dinner of bread and milk before being dragged into chambers by the bureaucracy of the capital. A summon from Nyko never came, positive or negative; perhaps that was somehow worse because it allowed her brain to flit endlessly through the possibilities.

The moon was high by the time she left and though every bone ached with exhaustion, still she steered her body not towards her own chambers, but to a room several floors lower. Inside she found an unexpected state of quiet. Nyko was propped awkwardly in the small wooden chair in the corner, his head resting against the wall and his mouth slack in sleep. Katja lay on her back, arms at her sides, unmoving and unconscious.

She frowned before feeling eyes upon her and shifted her attention to the priest, who was sitting still as a statue by the fire, glittering eyes regarding her curiously. She lowered herself to the rug beside him, ignoring his surprise.

"What news?"

"Stable Heda. Nothing more I'm afraid."

"And recovery?"

"Not a certainty. I wish my news were better. The injury was severe, it was sheer luck that nothing vital was pierced. I trust that the Azgeda traitors have been dealt with?"

"Indeed. I have also reinstated the ' _Kovakeryon_ to the Council as a result of the Trial. The Clans have accepted." Lexa shifted to stare at Katja's inert form, though she continued speaking to the priest. Her voice was soft; thoughtful. "Should she recover, she will need you now more than ever. Polis, as you now know, can be quite vicious."

"Do not underestimate her Heda. You will need _her_. She can be your strength, your stability…"

"I do not need someone to be my strength." The Commander narrowed her eyes, bristling slightly against his suggestion.

"There are many types of strength Heda, I meant no offence." Lewan clasped his hands together but did not look particularly troubled. "It is difficult to be all kinds at all times. The Commander need not bear the burden alone." He looked pointedly at her, taking in her obvious exhaustion.

"The Commander, by definition, bears that burden alone, priest. It is the destiny of the Keeper of the Flame."

"You sound very much like her." Lewan chuckled quietly at Lexa's fervent declaration. "I supposed I should as well, being a kepa. There is no guidance in the texts, however, beyond ceremony, for how to navigate the reintroduction of a centuries old position. This is new ground for everyone, and change is not welcomed by all."

Lexa offered a noncommittal grunt.

"It is my greatest wish that despite a difficult beginning, you will both learn to trust each other. Heda and 'Kovakeryon, together, will usher in a new era for our people."

"First she must live."

It was Lewan's turn to mutter under his breath and sigh.

"Has there been no change then?"

"None of note Heda. We have stopped the bleeding and closed the wound but that does not guarantee anything. She has lost a lot of blood and if her body recovers, progress will be slow."

"I need her position cemented immediately. The Council has accepted it in theory only. The sooner she is seen and heard, the sooner we can move forward."

"Understood Heda." He gave a small bow of his head. "And agreed. The fisa and I will do what we can."

"I app—"

One of her guards burst through the door, interrupting her mid-sentence. She turned to scold him as she rose, but his heaving chest and wild eyes made her pause.

"Heda!" He hastily saluted, having the good sense to look somewhat sheepish at having barged in unannounced. "Moba, I did not mean to interrupt. The Fleimkepa has sent me to request that you in the throne room. Said it was urgent."

"The Fleimkepa summons me now does he?" She watched the man's face pale slightly. "And what, exactly, is so urgent?"

"Riders, Heda. From the West. Roan kom Azgeda arrived at the city gate and makes his way towards the tower now."

"Riders, plural?"

"She, Heda. Roan brings a captive…"

Nervousness flickered in the pit of her stomach. When last the Commander had seen Roan, he had been eager to escape the capital and his mother's watchful eye. She knew he was keen to angle himself towards the northern throne, and he had promised to bring proof of his loyalty to the Coalition and to Lexa herself. With Nia's treachery already unveiled and dealt with, she could think of only one prize that could accomplish both of his goals.

"…Klark kom Skaikru."

"You are certain?" Lexa blinked rapidly, trying to calm the pounding of her heart.

"Sha, Heda. The Fleimkepa said it had been confirmed."

"You will excuse me." The Commander shot a quick glance at Lewan, who was watching her carefully. The man merely quirked a brow in response and gestured towards the door. Lexa required no further encouragement and headed quickly for the throne room, the messenger hot on her heels.

* * *

 

She didn't know what sort of reception she had been expecting from Clarke, but the feral, snarling, aggressive creature that entered the room shortly after her own arrival was certainly still shocking. Her golden hair had been dyed a deep maroon, no doubt as a measure of disguise that had helped her elude Lexa's scouting parties for as long as she had. She was mudstreaked, filthy and ragged, pulling against the restraint of her captor as though to charge directly at the Commander.

Roan cleared his throat noisily. Heda had not even acknowledged his presence. He squeezed Clarke's arms harder as she struggled in his grip, sorely tempted to backhand the surly girl across the face. Travel to the capital had not been pleasant.

"Roan kom Azgeda, you are welcomed back to Polis." Lexa fought the nausea that creeped up the back of her throat. She could feel Clarke's hard stare, laced with hatred, and the weight of it made her ill.

" _Mochof_ , Heda. I was on my way back already when one of your riders met us and escorted us the rest of the way."

"I assume then, that you have already heard the news."

"I have."

"The Azgeda seat on the Council falls to you as does the leadership of your Clan. I hope that today begins a new era of cooperation between our peoples. Your mother inspired nothing but treachery, may you instead inspire peace."

"My mother was a fool. I trust she and her little pet have been dealt with?"

Heda merely nodded, unable to keep her gaze from wandering to the still squirming Skaikru leader. Roan, noticing the shift in attention, shoved his captive forward.

"A gift for a gift, Commander." He bowed deeply. "You have given me my freedom, and in return I have brought you that which your own trackers were unable to find."

"You have my thanks, King of Azgeda, for bringing her safely to me. Now please leave us, I'm sure there is much you would like to attend to."

"Of course Heda."

"Everyone…out."

There was something in her tone of voice that made even Titus obey unquestioningly. Lexa looked at the floor in front of her as the door to the room clicked shut. "Kla…"

"Don't."

The Commander met Clark's look hesitantly, surprised by the depth of withering fury those normally sympathetic blue eyes could hold. She felt her toes curling in her boots, fighting to retain some sense of dignity and not just throw herself upon the mercy of the girl before her. From what she could see, mercy was not likely to be forthcoming.

"Klark, I hope in your time away you've had a moment to reflect on what happened at the Mountain and understa-.."

"Understand how you left us there to _die_?" Clark interrupted her again, contempt dripping from every word. "How after everything we'd planned and everything we'd been through you sold us like _cattle_?"

"Understand how I had a duty to my people, and made a choice I was honored bound to make; sworn well before your people arrived."

"I am so sick of you using duty and honor as an excuse for every behaviour. What about your word, about peace, about us, Lexa? You have no honour," with that, Clark crossed the small distance separating them and spar forcefully into The Commander's face. "You disgust me."

Lexa stood, stunned, while the spittle rolled down her cheek and onto the front of her armour. The woman in front of her was a stranger, so cloaked in her own outrage that Lexa could find very little of the giving, empathetic human being who had reminded her how to feel. They stood there a moment, eyes locked in a silent game of question and answer, before Heda averted her gaze to the doors.

"Guards!"

Three of her personal guard burst through the door immediately, weapons drawn as though expecting trouble. Lexa swallowed and fought to calm her voice to something approaching normal. Thrusting her chin towards Clark, she gave her orders.

"Comfortable chambers, full guard. She is not to see anyone or go anywhere without my express permission."

The last thing Lexa heard as she turned her back and made for the large balcony were a chorus of 'sha Heda!' and a string of epitaphs from Clark's lips that would have made the roughest of her soldiers blush. The large wooden doors slammed shut just as she reached the railing, her fingers wrapping a out the cold iron and gripping it as though it were a lifeline. Tears pooled, dangerously close to falling and yet she refused to let them, blinking them back with ferocious concentration.

Seeing Clark like that had been heartbreaking for a number of reasons. She had always hoped that when the time came for them to meet again that it would be with a cautious sort of joy. All she had found had been loathing.

Where could they go from here?

 

 


	27. Stasis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Commander seems to be making a habit of particularly recalcitrant "guests". Unfortunately, she also needs Clarke's help with a medical matter and must try to reach the empathetic side of Wanheda.j

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little choppy and rushed in my opinion but I hope you enjoy.

Time held little meaning in the days that followed. Day bled into night bled into another day, with little care for the dark circles beneath the Commander’s eyes. The spectre of Clarke was never far from thought. Lexa's attention wandered with every spare moment to the blonde woman, so tantalizingly close after so long wishing for the opportunity to see her again, to hold her, and yet so very far away across the void that had grown between them that night at the Mountain.

Things were no better when the day’s duties were done. When sleep finally came she saw Katja; saw that horrified look on the girl's face at the moment the traitor’s sword pierced the front of her robes, over and over and over in endless repetition. Lexa often woke contorted, teeth clenched, and the bedsheets wrapped about her limbs like silken, sweat soaked chains.

Neither situation was one that she could resolve. Clarke merely growled and spat, a malignant ball of anger, refusing to even speak to her on the few occasions she had attempted to visit. Katja, conversely, was still as a corpse, all blacks and greys and translucent whiteness, with not even the faintest flicker of movement betraying progress in her recovery.

Six days it had been since the Trial, and three since she had last attempted to visit Clarke. She hid the gnawing ache in her chest behind a facade of brutal indifference, dispensing judgement with a cold efficiency that cracked the moment her chamber door clicked closed at night. Only there, alone, could she collapse, admitting to no one but those four walls the extent of her misery.

Slowly she undid the braids from her hair, pulling her fingers gently through the tangled strands and letting them drape in long waves over one shoulder. Sophie had been kind enough to leave a glass of wine at the dressing table, somehow knowing that it would be needed.

As she sipped, the rich liquid spreading its warmth through her tired limbs, Lexa caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror and frowned, taking in the gauntness of her face and redness of her eyes. Despite the chill of the air she rose, taking the remainder of the wine with her out onto the balcony and watched as the clouds slide silently over the moon. The darkness was comforting, as were the tiny flickering of the torches below, stretching out in all directions like paths safe for travel. If only her course as Commander could be so easily seen.

When morning dawned, the sunrise brought no further clarity. Sophie quietly buckled on the Commander’s armor and retreated without saying a word, easily reading the tension on Heda's face and not wanting to engage in casual conversation. Lexa steeled herself, straightening her shoulders and adjusting, for the dozenth time, the leather straps of her scabbard. Nothing about today promised to be pleasant.

The door to Clarke's room swung open with a groan to reveal the curtains still drawn and a dark form sitting rigidly at the foot of the bed. Lexa dismissed her guards, stationing them outside the door, and pulled it shut behind her.

“And here I thought that you had forgotten about me…” Clarke's tone was flat and acerbic, “to what do I owe the honour?”

“Klark…” the woman's name came out like a sigh as Lexa clasped her hands in front of her. “I did not come here to argue.”

“Argue? There's very little to argue about Lexa. There's no possible way to misinterpret that you broke our agreement, sentencing my people to death while you skipped merrily back into the woods.” Clarke remained seated and spoke calmly, drawing one leg up under herself and shifting into a more comfortable position. “So yes, let’s not argue. What do you want?”

Lexa hesitated, unsure if this new emotionless Clarke was an improvement over the furious, hate-filled Clarke of the past week. The dye had started to fade out of the girl’s wavy hair, allowing streaks of the identifying blonde to peek through. Now clean and looking somewhat rested, Clarke seemed much less a wild animal and more…Clarke. It made integrating the attitude with the memory of the woman she once knew even more difficult.

“There are several matters to discuss. The first being the safety of Skaikru.”

“What has happened? What have you done?!” Clarke rose rapidly and closed the gap between the bed and the door with surprising speed.

“Nothing has happened, yet.” Lexa raised her hands in front of her in a calming manner and was relieved when Clarke stopped short. “However to be a Kru without allies is dangerous. It leaves Skaikru open and vulnerable to attacks from nomads, from the Clanless, and yes, from other Kru who will see your people as an enemy simply because they are not an ally. Skaikru are skilled in matters we have very little understanding of, but perhaps not in the workings of life here and basic survival beyond food and shelter.”

Clarke ground her teeth together, knowing that what Lexa said was true. Alone, the people from the Ark made an easy target for anyone looking for supplies, for slaves, for guns, or simply mindless slaughter. Everything from the environment to the inhabitants were hostile on this wretched planet, and not having friends was akin to not having armor.

“I have sent word to the Skaikru leaders, to your mother, with word that you are safe and in the Capital. I have invited them, as guests, to Polis to discuss a treaty.” A quick grimace of anguish flitted across Lexa’s face at her next words. “You are, of course, free to return with them when the negotiations have concluded.”

“How magnanimous of you, Heda.”

“Klark, you are not a prisoner here, despite how you wish to see it in your anger towards me. “

“Could have fooled me.”

“I was not the only one looking for you. Azgeda dedicated considerable resources to retrieving you. As Wanheda, your capture would have granted Nia substantial leverage.”

“So you kidnapped me and dragged me here to keep me from Nia? Is that it?”

“No…” Lexa swallowed and stared directly into the crystalline blue of Clarke's eyes. “I searched for you because I was terrified that something would happen to you. That either the wilderness or the Azplana would get to you before I was able to see you safe. I could not bear that thought…”

“But you were more than happy to leave me at the mercy of the Mountain Men, even knowing what went on there, weren't you Lexa?”

“I had no choice Klark. I cannot always do what I wish I could, when my own people are at stake. Now, however, there is an opportunity to provide a measure of peace for both of our people, and for us.”

Clarke's brow rose in response, but she said nothing.

“When the Skaikru representatives arrive, I plan to propose that Skaikru become the thirteenth member of the _Kongeda_.”

“What?!” Clarke was incredulous. “Why on Earth would Skaikru agree to join the very people that betrayed them? Or more importantly to follow a leader whose decisions cost the lives of some of their loved ones? You've lost your mind Lexa.”

“It is the only way to keep them safe Klark. You know it as well as I do. They will hopefully see the value of a leader that will stop at nothing to see her people protected, and the benefit of being part of a structure with greater resources than they themselves could ever hope to control.”

“They will not consider this.”

“They will if you reason with them.”

The force of the slap caught Lexa off guard as her head snapped to the left. She resisted the urge to raise a hand to the stinging flesh and instead shook her head softly at Clarke. “It is the only way. A conventional treaty will be proposed as well but it does not offer the same amount of protection. I will not ask you to do something that you feel is not in the best interests of Skaikru, but while they travel to Polis, if they agree to come, please consider the options. They will listen to you.”

Clarke’s hand twitched as though another strike was incoming. Lexa did not flinch. It was Clarke's turn to hesitate as she turned to slowly pace back and forth in front of the bed. “I will advise them as I think best.”

Lexa took it as a small victory and nodded. “I would expect nothing less.”

“What else?”

“Hrm?”

“You said there were several things to discuss. That was two. My status and the invitation of Skaikru to the Coalition. So, what else?”

Lexa shifted her weight back and forth between her feet. Leave it to Clarke to be so direct. “I need your help.”

“My help.” Clarke snorted in disbelief. “Just when I think you can't possibly be more selfish, you manage to surprise me.”

“Please Klark, I would not ask if there were other avenues to pursue. It is not for me personally, but for the Coalition and it is important enough that I would risk it, even with this tension between us.”

“And just what exactly, can a helpless Skaikru girl do that the Commander cannot?” Clarke stuggled to keep her curiosity in check. For Lexa to ask for a favour meant something serious.

“Heal.” Lexa flexed her fingers gently and met Clarke's gaze. “No one in the Clans possess the skill of Skaikru, and among Skaikru, few can match you.”

“My mother will arrive shortly and is far more knowledgable that me. Why not wait for her?” Clarke narrowed her eyes.

“The matter is somewhat urgent and cannot wait the week. Also, while the Chancellor may have more training, she does not possess the empathy and openness that you do.”

“Empathy…and openness…” Clarke chewed nervously along her lower lip. It was frustratingly difficult to maintain what she considered an appropriate level of loathing for the young woman in front of her when Lexa insisted on speaking this way. “What would you have me do?”

“There is a girl…”

“For the Coalition, hrm?” Clarke spoke before she could stop herself, feeling her face flush as Lexa choked back a small chuckle.

“For the Coalition, Klark. It is not like that. She is crucial to the peace that I have fought to create. Her survival will usher in a new era that I hope, along with the addition of Skaikru, will provide lasting stability.”

“I’m listening.”

For the next hour, Lexa relayed everything she could to Clarke about the ‘ _Kovakeryon_ , their historical position and the surprise at having one appear so suddenly in their midst. Given the situation, Lexa tactfully left out the details of Katja’s capture and imprisonment, not wanting to jeopardize this small window of hope that Clarke offered by admitting to interrogation and mistreatment. She spoke of the actions of the Azgeda queen in detail, from the woman's courting of Katja’s abilities to the Trial and its ultimately ugly resolution. Clarke spent much of the discussion with her mouth slightly agape.

“Commander…Lexa, I'm not sure what to say.”

“Say yes. To at least examining her. Her _Kepa_ and Nyko have exhausted their own skills, with little improvement. If there is nothing you can do I will not mention it again.”

Clarke made a token effort appear as though she were carefully considering the request, when in reality her mind had been made up part way into Lexa's explanation. She was intrigued by the possibility that it was all true, but determined as well to prove this was simply Grounder superstition at work. She agreed to do what she could, much to the Commander’s relief.

Their booted feet echoed along the corridor ahead of them, announcing their approach to the quartet of guards positioned by the door. Heda nodded to Farrah, who shot Clarke a suspicious glare before unbolting the door and allowing them entry. The noise woke Lewan from his sleep, wedged awkwardly as he was into an upholstered chair much too small for him. Nyko was hovering over the bed, looking haggard and exhausted. Both were startled by the company. Nyko stepped swiftly around the bed, daring to give Clarke a small bow of grateful recognition.

“Heda, we were not expecting you until this evening.”

“An oppor—..”

Clarke waved a hand dismissively and was already on her way towards the bed, ignoring the empty pleasantries. Whatever tolerance she may have once possessed for Grounder bureaucracy had been eroded during her extended time alone. Nyko and Lexa watched her go, their surprise holding them momentarily motionless.

As she got within a few feet of the bed, a solid wall appeared between her and her target. With a dull thump, Clarke ran straight into the intimidating bulk of the Kepa. With a surprised grunt, she pushed off Lewan's chest with both hands and backed off a step, regarding his crossed arms and stern expression with a frown.

“Klark is here to help, _Kepa_. She is a Skaikru _fisa_ that may be able to provide more insight into the nature of the wound.”

“I know who she is, Heda. _Em don slip yu kru daun. Honets.”_

“I am not here to kill anyone.” Clarke grumbled an exasperated response to the statement in Trigedasleng and gestured beyond Lewan to the unconscious figure on the bed. “Please, let me see if there's anything I can do. I swear no harm will be done.”

“ _Step of_ , priest. Now.” Lexa dropped a hand to the grip of her dagger, making it clear she would personally remove him if necessary.

Clarke, in an attempt to diffuse the situation, merely placed a hand firmly on Lewan’s muscled forearm and gave it a small squeeze. “I swear it.”

The large man narrowed his eyes and looked down at the slender, pale hand on his arm. It was not the threat of the Commander, nor so much Clarke's touch or tone, but something greater, something integral to the energy that this girl exuded, that made him step aside. He now understood Katja’s earlier interest in the Skaikru leader. She certainly had a presence.

Clarke nodded her thanks and approached, staring openly for a moment at the person whose fantastical history she had just been told. It was absurd, superstitious nonsense. On the Ark there was no belief in such things other than in the story books of children and yet Lexa expected her to believe that this girl possessed abilities so rare that there was little other explanation. Healing touch, visions, tattoos that glowed in the moonlight…ridiculous. But on the small chance that any of it were true, she wanted nothing more in that moment that to restore the girl’s health and see for herself.

Tentatively, Clark reached out a hand, feeling the hard stare of Lewan boring into her from across the bed, and placed a palm against the girl’s cheek. It was cool, as was her brow. Whatever the healers had done to this point had at least controlled any fever that could have developed. Next, she pressed her fingers into the side of the throat and was rewarded with a faint, but steady beat.

“She has been like this for six days?” Clarke flicked a look at Heda for confirmation.

“Nearly seven now.” It was Lewan that answered, anxiety seeping into his voice despite his best efforts to keep in contained.

“Seven.” Clarke dropped her eyes to Katja’s hands, marvelling at their stark contrast with the white sheets. Gently, she slid her own fingers beneath the girl’s palm and turned it to examine it more closely, finding no indication of anything out of the ordinary that would account for the gifts they were said to possess.

“Nyko,” the healer’s familiar beard and beaded braids appeared immediately on her right, “may I see the wound?”

“Of course.” He grasped the top edge of the bed coverings and drew them down to Katja's waist, revealing a plain tunic top made bulky by the wrappings underneath. Carefully, he lifted the hem of the shirt, rolling it as he went to expose the neatly applied bandages and protective wrap. With a small knife he withdrew from his belt, he slit the wrappings, and dropped them into an empty basket beside the bed.

Clarke herself reached out to lift the woven cotton pads. She was pleasantly surprised. The wound was neither red nor raw, showing no obvious signs of infection. The stab had been clean, reflecting the straight line of marred flesh, and the sutures were not the barbaric cross-cross that she feared to find but instead a neat, efficient row of stitches.

She stepped over to a small basin of water and washed her hands well, returning to the bedside to prod gently around the margins of the injury, first watching for blood or fluid, and then repeating the actions while watching Katja's face for any sign of response. There was none.

“No fever, no sign of infection. Wound appears to be healing just fine.” Clarke went through her mental checklist of things her mother had taught her to look for. “Breathing seems okay, pulse is steady. I mean, this was a potentially lethal injury, it would take quite some time to recover, but to spend an entire week stable but completely non responsive is strange. I'm assuming there was a large amount of blood loss?”

“There was.” Lewan again, this time nodding in the affirmative. “We managed to stem the flow but it took time.”

“Perhaps there's something to that then.” Clarke addressed him directly, pausing to chew on her lip. “How do..did..uh, others like her react to serious injury?”

“I do not know.” The man shrugged and sighed, scooping the girl's other hand up between own. “There are few records from the time of the Purges, and none dealing with this sort of matter that I have seen. She certainly has never experienced this severe an injury herself before and I cannot say whether this sort of…stasis, is simply part of a recovery process or not.”

Clarke stared at the stitches, her mind generating and dismissing all sorts of possibilities, most of which were limited by the lack of suitable medical facilities. Perhaps recovery would simply be painfully slow, due to the nature of the injury or some strange facet of her genetics, or an unexpected combination of both. Surgery would be extremely risky. With no sign of further internal bleeding and the girl's overall stable condition, to go back for exploratory purposes was likely to do more harm than good. There was only one thing she could think to suggest, but it was far from easy and not guaranteed to work.

“There's something that might help. I-…I don't know for sure but it's possible that her recovery is being hampered by the amount of blood loss, or by the amount of resources her body is having to dedicate to restoring it…I have no idea how it works with night bloods, I could be completely wrong.”

“Go on, please,” Lewan encouraged.

“If- If I'm right, and we can transfuse some fresh blood into her system, perhaps it will give her the strength she needs to gain ground rather than just stabilize. It’s a long shot, it really is, and it requires a donor to provide the blood to transfuse.”

“I would give it gladly.”

“I appreciate your enthusiasm _Kepa_ ,” Clarke looked quickly at Lewan, who had answered, and just as quickly lowered her eyes, “but I do not think you are a suitable candidate. I think, to be compatible, the donor would have to be a _natblida_.”

She saw The Commander straighten out of the corner of her eye and knew that the unspoken answer was not lost on those present. Inwardly, Clarke cringed at the thought of involving Lexa, but continued to outline what she was considering.

“It's definitely not without risk. I'm making a large assumption here that because Heda is also a night blood, her blood will be compatible with Katja's. If I'm wrong, it could provoke a severe immune response, serious enough to kill her.” Clarke looked again at Lewan, hoping that he understood the gravity of what she was saying. “The choice is really to leave things as they are and hope she recovers, to wait another week until someone more qualified arrives, or to attempt this transfusion to see if we can kick start the healing process.”

All eyes turned to the Commander who stood, hands on hips, at the foot of the bed. Lexa was lost in thought, her eyes locked on the gash along the girl's ribs as though staring long enough would reveal the probability of success. She was immensely glad that Titus was not present, but could still hear his tirade building in the back of her mind. “And the risk to myself?”

“Should be minimal.” Clarke shook her head. “You may feel slightly weak or dizzy for a few hours directly afterwards but there should be no lasting effect. The danger is on the end of the recipient.”

“All have their risks, given what you have said,” Lewan smoothed a hand absently over his beard. “Every second that the _Amin_ remains unconscious jeopardizes the small foothold of respect she has earned from the Clans and Coalition. I also do not know if she will ever wake if simply left to lay like this indefinitely. As for the second option, I am uncomfortable with it. I do not know this person who could potentially help if we wait, but I do know that she possessed a great deal of faith in you, Clarke.”

“Me? How? We've never even met!”

“Stories for another time perhaps.” The Kepa allowed himself a small smile at Clarke's outburst. “She would trust you, I know that, and so I shall trust you as well. With Heda's blessing, I would ask that we try this…transfusion.”

“Do you honestly believe this is our best option Klark?”

There was a softness to Lexa's question that made Clarke's insides clench involuntarily. She lifts her eyes to meet the Commander’s and gave the barest of nods. The uncertainty that she saw on Lexa's face was so unlike the fearsome Commander that it pained Clarke to see. For just a moment, lost in a sea of greenish-grey, she forgot to be angry. “I do.”

“Nyko, assist Klark in gathering whatever supplies she needs, prepare the room. I shall return within the hour.” Hesitation in the face of a difficult decision was not a luxury that Lexa was accustomed to having, so she did not use it now.

“Sha, Heda. But if I may, do you not want time to consider? Perhaps to consult the _Fleimkepa_?”

Lexa shot Nyko a look that said very clearly that there was nothing she would less rather do, before turning on her heel and disappearing into the hallway.


	28. Transfusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke, with help from Lexa, Lewan and Nyko, does the only thing that she can think of to bring Katja out of her coma. She may have bitten off more than she can chew.

By the end of the hour they had managed to find the basic equipment needed to perform the procedure. It was rudimentary but in good condition, clearly scavenged via encounters with the Mountain Men. She felt no small sense of relief that at the very least she would have a good shot. As long as she didn't screw up.

Clarke squeezed her eyes shut and leaned heavily against the wall at the head of the bed. What if she couldn't find a vein? What if she hurt either of them? What if the blood wouldn't flow? As the appointed time approached, her anxiety increased until it was a palpable presence in the room. Could she do this? Was this a mistake? Was she totally wrong? The questions spun her into a state of panic as the door reopened to reveal the Commander, stripped of all her armor and finery, dressed in a simple sleeveless black shirt and pants.

Lexa took one look at Clarke and knew exactly her state of mind. She had the wide-eyed stare of a cornered animal caught in that perfect split second moment between fight or flight. The Skaikru girl’s breathing was jagged, and Lexa could see even from where she stood a slight tremor in Clarke's hands.

“I trust preparations have been made?” Lexa winced inwardly at how cold that had sounded, but her own nerves were rattled and she knew no other way to deal with them than corralling all of her emotions. She trusted Clarke, but the idea of blood, her own blood, being taken from her body to be put into another was a concept so alien that she could not help but be edgy.

When Clarke didn't answer, Nyko stepped up, his arms crossed loosely over his chest. He cast a concerned, sideways glance in Clarke's direction before bowing to Heda and responding.

“They have, Commander. We were able to find nearly everything required in the medical supply crates that were recovered from the _Maunon_.”

“I am glad that it has finally found use. Shall we proceed then?”

Silence.

“Clarke?”

“Right, uh, yes.” Clarke shook her head as though to clear it and took a deep breath to steady herself. She motioned Lexa over to the chair that had recently served as Lewan’s sleeping spot, and gestured for the Commander to sit down.

“Put your arm on the armrest, palm up. Try to relax.” Clarke wasn’t sure to whom she addressed the second comment. Heda looked the very picture of calm.

Clarke uncapped a bottle of antiseptic and tipped a small amount onto a cotton swab, brushing the liquid firmly over the hollow of Lexa’s elbow. “There will be a small pinching sensation when the needle goes in, but other than that, you should be fine. If you start to feel cold, or lightheaded in any way, tell me immediately.”

“Understood.”

Clarke unpackaged the collection bag, which would be used to hold the blood only for a short time before it was transfused into the unconscious girl. Though direct whole blood transfusions could be done in an emergency, it seemed like taking every precaution available would be the wiser choice.

She placed the bag flat on the top of a towel that had been folded and laid on the floor, saying a silent prayer to whatever deity might be listening that the anticoagulants it contained were equally as effective on the blood of natblidas. She worked at connecting the tubing, fumbling slightly and cursing her shaking hands. Lastly she tore open the sterile package containing the needle, and affixed it to the other end of the tubing. Clarke met Lexa’s reassuring gaze and caught the slightest of nods from Heda.

Mercifully, the Commander’s vein was clearly defined and even with somewhat unsteady fingers, Clarke managed to find the mark first try, with a minimum of jabbing and wiggling. After a moment of apprehensive waiting, the trickle of black blood began to run through the tubing towards the waiting bag.

Clarke swallowed a sigh of relief and watched Lexa's face carefully for any signs of discomfort, but there were none. The Commander merely calmly, if with some degree of amazement, watched as the pouch filled slowly over the next fifteen minutes, the time ticking painfully slowly by until at last Clarke removed the needle, pushing a small piece of clean cotton again Lexa's elbow.

“Keep pressure on it until it stops bleeding.”

Heda answered with a nod and covered Clarke's hand with her own, trying to impart a measure of reassurance. The blonde paused a moment, the soft weight of Lexa's hand a welcome distraction from the task ahead. She felt the woman's thumb brush gently against the back of her hand and looked up to find the Commander staring at her intently. Clarke blinked and pulled away sharply, disconnecting the tubing used to collect Lexa's blood and readying the now full bag for use.

They had jury-rigged a setup to hang the bag from a torch bracket on the wall by the bed by looping a thin piece of wire through the thicker metal and forming it into a hook. Lewan took the bag from Clarke and slid it into place, supporting it a moment with one hand until he was certain that the wire would hold the full weight.

Gently, Clarke turned Katja’s arm over, the dark line of the target vein showing immediately against the paleness of the surrounding skin. Relieved, she knew it would not be difficult to place the puncture.

Clarke’s eyes traced a path down the girl’s face while she rubbed a healthy dose of iodine across what would be the point of transfusion. Katja’s features were relaxed as though in sleep, not overly delicate but certainly quite striking. Dark brows arced gracefully over closed eyes fringed by long black lashes. The straight line of Katja’s nose turned up every-so-slightly at the end, preventing it from looking sharp or purely aquiline. Her complexion was smooth and unblemished save for several odd silvery tinged markings across her nose, cheeks and chin. Curious…

Clarke realized she had been staring for some time and cleared her throat. Even unconscious the stranger made her feel inelegant.

“It’s unlikely that there will be an immediate reaction, either positive or negative.” She connected new sterile tubing to the hanging bag, allowing the dark blood to fill all the way down to the open end before pinching the clamp, and prepared a fresh needle. “But just in case we should be prepared to act quickly. Nyko, if needed you will assist at the head, and _Kepa_ , I’m sorry, I never caught your name…”

“ _Kepa_ is fine.”

Clarke blinked at him but forged ahead. “Very well, _Kepa_ , you are in charge of her legs. I need you both to listen carefully to me and to do as asked immediately without question.” She waited for both to agree and then sucked in a large breath between her teeth. “Okay, here we go then.”

The large gauge needle slid effortlessly into place and Clarke taped it securely to Katja’s forearm, reopening the clamp and watching closely. Nothing.

“Is it…going?” This from Nyko, whose gaze flicked from the bag to the arm and back to the bag.

Clarke did the same, concerned for a brief moment that perhaps the blood in the bag had coagulated, or that Katja’s vein had collapsed. Finally she saw a minute decrease in the level of fluid in the bag and she grinned widely. “It’s going.”

Over the course of the transfusion there was no noticeable change in the patient’s condition. The only sign of anything happening at all was the gradual collapse of the collection bag as the blood drained slowly from it, down the tube, and into Katja’s system. Still, all four in the room watched it happen as though it were the most riveting thing they had ever seen.

With the bag very nearly empty, Clarke re-clamped the tube and withdrew the needle, pressing another clean piece of cotton in place and counting to thirty. Lifting the white fluff cautiously, there were no further signs of bleeding and so she taped the ball in place, moving to clean up their equipment and makeshift apparatus. She could feel the rhythm of her heart returning, one beat at a time, to something approaching normal though the adrenaline still coursing through her veins made it nearly impossible to focus her thoughts.

“Well done Klark,” the Commander looked just as relieved as she did. “And now?”

“Now? There's nothing to do but wait.”

__________

The candles in the room had been lit at dusk, but now their flames flickered and spat as the wicks neared the bottom, the sun long since set. Clarke had given up trying to convince Lexa to go rest hours ago, the Commander’s stubbornness planting her firmly in a chair at the foot of the bed. None of them had left the room save to relieve themselves and the quick minute that Nyko had taken to order someone in the hallway to fetch them all dinner.

Clarke had eaten half-heartedly, more to keep her hands occupied than from actually being hungry. As the hours passed without change she began to doubt herself. Perhaps blood loss had not been the culprit. Perhaps she had made the wrong call. There were no signs of adverse reactions, which was a small blessing, but some small part of her had hoped for something miraculous.

They all kept watch together a while longer, before full bellies and the warmth of the newly lit fire conspired against them. Nyko was the first to succumb, his chin resting in against his chest, his breaths deep and even from the chair in the corner. At some point Clarke gave in as well, the weight of her eyelids overcoming her determination and she too slumped over at the side of the bed.

She had no idea how long she had been out, but it didn’t feel nearly like long enough. The needling voice that made it’s way into the back of her head was a very unwelcome intruder.

“Klark.” Her name reached her again as though through some sort of fog. “Klark! Wake up, please! Something is happening.”

“L-Lexa?” Her bleary eyes refused to clear as the Commander’s shape appeared directly in front of her, amorphous and indistinct. “Wh-What’s going on? I fell asleep? What’s happening?”

She felt Heda’s hands on her shoulders and was roughly shaken. “Klark! Focus please! We need you.”

The concern in Lexa’s voice snapped Clarke out of her sleep-dazed state and she looked around as though startled to find herself still in the room. She had no idea what time it was, though fresh candles had been started and there was not yet sign of dawn through the glass panes of the balcony doors.

Lewan and Nyko looked as worried as the Commander sounded, and Clarke followed their eyes to the bed where Katja’s body lay rigid, her fingers spread wide and stiffly locked. Her head was back and the muscles of her neck stretched taut though she made no sound.

“Uncover her, now.” Seizure? Stroke? Clarke’s remaining sleepiness faded in an instant as her logical brain kicked in, spinning through scenarios and possibilities.

Nyko ripped back the sheets, showing the girl’s entire arrow straight form. Clarke reached down and grabbed a wrist, trying to see if she could bend Katja’s arm at the elbow. She could not. It was as though a steel rod went from shoulder to fingertip.

Just as Clarke was about to order the two men to hold Katja down, it was as though a switch were flipped and she watched as injured woman’s body lay still and relaxed once more agains the sheets. Clarke frowned, turning to Lexa to see if the Commander might have any insight as to what might be going on.

“Is any of this..night blood related? Have you ever seen something like that before?” Lexa shook her head, which left Clarke to wonder if the stranger’s body were rejecting the transfusion. It had been the largest risk of the entire procedure and if she were honest with herself, Clarke had no idea what she was going to do if that turned out to be the case.

Katja lay completely still for a minute, four sets of anxious eyes watching for even the smallest of twitches. Lewan had forgotten to breathe, and finally did so, his throat rasping audibly in the silence. No movement. Clarke counted to ten, twenty, thirty…nothing.

Suddenly there was a startled grunt from behind her, and Heda dropped to a knee clutching her side, but Clarke had already begun to react to the girl's back arcing once more off the bed. A quick examination showed Katja's pulse to be wild and erratic, as though her heart were straining as hard as the rest of her muscles.

Clarke looked helplessly back at Lexa, who had gotten back to both feet but seemed dazed by whatever had struck her. What do I do? Who had she thought she was, suggesting medical procedures well outside of her knowledge or experience? She had no idea how to proceed should something go wrong, and judging by the contorted form of her current “patient”, things were going very wrong indeed.

“ Commander, are you alright?”

“I am fine, just a momentary pain.” Lexa steadied herself. “What is happening Klark? What do we do?”

“I don't know.” She felt the familiar panic well up inside her as Heda asked her the very question to which she had no answer. “I don't know…this must be an adverse reaction to the transfusion in some way but I don't what it is or how to control it.”

“Well we have to do something, this c—…” Lewan stuttered to a stop mid-sentence as Katja's body descended slowly once again to the mattress, slack. Beads of perspiration had broken out across his charge’s brow, giving the only outward sign of change.

Again the stillness, as the four of them regarded Katja's unconscious form warily. Seconds ticked by, a minute, until finally Clarke stepped forward tentatively to recheck her vitals.

Much to her relief, Katja's pulse had settled back into a slower, more steady rhythm, calming in its regularity. Next she examined the wound, finding miraculously that none of the carefully placed stitches had torn. Clarke then leaned forward, placing her palm flat against Katja's forehead - no fever. What was going on?

There was no indication of anything out of the ordinary. There was even less indication for what happened next.

Coming to with a mighty gasp, Katja shot upright, clutching at the first thing within reach, which in this case was the collar of Clarke's blue shirt. With surprising strength, the injured girl jerked her captive towards her as a spasm of pain ripped through her side. Clarke let out a muffled yelp as she fell forward, ending up awkwardly draped along Katja's upper body.

She reached her hands up and grabbed Katja's wrists in an attempt to break the iron grip on her collar but as she focused on the face below her and parted her lips, the words that came out were no where near those she had intended to speak.

“Holy shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's back! (With apologies to my fellow scientists for the bastardization of transfusion protocol.) A shorter chapter, but things have been a little hectic around here. Hoping to have more time to devote to Third Law for the rest of the summer. 
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the kudos and the comments, I really appreciate the interest even given my sporadic updates. Let me know what you think.


End file.
